University of California
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EARLY ENGLISH POETRY,
AND POPULAR LITERATURE
OF THE MIDDLE AGES.
EDITED FROM ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPTS
AND SCARCE. PJJBLJX3ATI0NS.
4 i) 3 9 D
I. OX DON :
PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY,
BY 'I RTcniAriris, im (A'f.kn sit!f,f.i.
CONTENTS OF VOL. XXX.
THE GARLAND OF GOOD-WILL.
KIJITED ItY J. H. lUXON.
lUUTANNLVS PASTOiiALS : A THIRD BOOK.
KlUTEl) ny T. CliUFlllN CnOKER.
JOHN BON AND MAST PERSON: A DIALOGUE
Bbli'EIi BY \V. H. liLACK, EStj.
GARLAND OF GOOD-WILL,
JAMES HENRY DIXON.
" That little ancient miscellany entitled The Garland of Goodwill."
— Bishop Percy.
"These are out of ballads! she has all The Garland of Good- Will
I)y heart." — Kowley's Match at Midjtiijht, 1033.
" Then art the voi-y honeycomb of honesty, The Garland of Good-
II'i7/."— Ford's Broken Heart, 1633.
PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY,
r.v r. KiciT.vKDs, sr, great queen street.
Eije Perc|3 .Society,
THE RIGHT HON. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A.
THOMAS AMYOT, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A.
W7LLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq.
W. DURRANT COOPER, Esq., F.S.A.
T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq. F.S.A., M.R.I.A.
JAMES HENRY DIXON, Esq.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FAIRHOLT, Esq., F.S.A.
W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S..V.
JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWKLL, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A.,
SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, B.\rt.
JAMES PRIOR, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A.
WILLIAM SANDYS, Esq., F.S.A.
C. ROACH SMITH, Esq., F.S.A.
RICHARD JOHN SMITH, Esq.
THE REV. J. REYNELL WRKI ORD, D.D., F.S.A.
THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., F.S.A., Treamrer.
Whp:n Bishop Percy's work, the Reliques of
Ancient English Poetry, issued from the press,
the poetry of ovir country was in a very weak and
hmguisliing condition ; for wliilst the only poetry
read and appreciated by the learned of the day,
was that of the philosoiihic school, the taste of
the masses was of a still more debased character,
as amongst them nothing was popular but sickly
and unnatural pastorals : and thus, between a
very questionable j)hilosophy of pantheistic ten-
dency on the one hand, and a mock arcadianism,
with its accompaniment of Damons, and Delias,
and Strephons, and sheep and brooks and crooks,
on the other, nature and truth were lost sight of,
and the inspiration of the bard had avcU nigh
become a thing unknown.
Percy's great work (great, notwithstanding all
its omissions, its errors, and its imperfections)
prepared the way for a better state of things, and
brought about a poetical revolution — a new era
in our literature, still in progress, and which has
been adorned by such names as Goldsmith, Gray,
Collins, CoAvpcr, Crabbc, Campbell, Scott, and
Wordsworth. All lionour, therefore, to the
memory of Bishop Percy ! While, however, we
honour the reformer, let us never forget the
sources of his inspii'ation, those
" Sweet poets of the geutle antiqvie line,
Who made the hue of beauty all eterne,
And gave earth's melodies a silver turn,"
nor, that one of such minstrel bards was Thomas
Deloney of Norwich, the author of " that little
ancient miscellany entitled The Garland of Good-
Will", Of the biography of Thomas Deloney, or
Delone, (for we have the name in both forms) little
is known beyond the few facts collected by Mr.
Collier ; it would appear that the minstrel was
a silk weaver, who made his poetical dehiit at Nor-
wich, about the year 1586, and who continued to
write and amuse the public until near the time of
his decease, which occurred in 1600. Our author
evidently enjoyed no small share of ])opularity,
;m<l to which his uunits well entitled him; nor
was his fame confined to his own ord(>r, for even
the elegant and classic Drayton, in an allusion to
liis "rhyme," designates it "full of state and
picasiug." Deloney was unquestionably a man of
talent, and byno means destitute of a certain degree
of book learning, although his reading was probably
cou fined to old English chronicles, metrical and
prose romances, and fabliaux. lie also seems
to have had some knowledge of the language of
France. As a writer, if, as we must acknowledge.
he sometimes sinks below mediocrity, we cannot
deny that he frequently gives utterance to bursts
of genuine poetry, taking far higher flights than
his contemporaries, Richard Johnson of the
" Goulden Koses", or even Martin Parker, so
canonical in all that relates to Robin Hood.
Deloney's works exhibit the faults and excellencies
of a self-taught man, whose life, there is too great
reason to fear, was one continued struggle for
existence, and who often wrote not as fancy
willed, or the muse dictated, but because author-
ship Avas a worldly affair, an unpoetical matter of
pounds, shillings, and pence. On no other
hypothesis could the author of " Fair Rosamond,"
and " The banishment of the two dukes," be the
author of " Shore's wife"; or could the author of
" The Spanish lady" (a poem which has elicited the
praises of Wordsworth) be the writer of disgustmg
ballads on the executions of the poor persecuted
Catholics of his time. Deloney was one of the
last of England's minstrel bards, and, therefore,
his publications have ever been in high esteem
amongst collectors ; of several of these works, a
list is given by Mr. Collier in his preface to
Deloney's Strcmcje Histories (Percy Society's
edition), but the catalogue is incomplete, and we
believe it may be extended by ascribing to Deloney
the authorship of " The Blind Beggar of Bednall
Creen," and " The pleasant and sweet liistory of
Patient Grissel, &c. j j^rinted by E. P. for John
Wright, dwelling in Giltspur Street, at the signe
of the Bible" (see Percy Society's edition, edited
by Collier) ; and by also ascribing to Deloney the
authorship of the " Garland of Good-Will". The
history of Patient Grissel contains a ballad
extracted from the " Garland of Good- will," being
the one inserted at page 82 of the present work,
and of which ballad no earlier edition has been dis-
covered. It is impossible to state when the Garland
made its first appearance, but it is presumed about
the year 1586 : none of the original editions arc
knowTi to exist, though it is not improbable that
there may be such carefully concealed in the dark
caverns of some of our literary Domdaniels, who,
imbued with a true spirit of dog-in-the-mangerism,
prevent others from tasting the food for which they
themselves have no relish. The Pcj)ysian black
letter copy of the Garland is only dated 1678 (just
seventy-eight years after Dcloncy's decease), and
it is the oldest we have been enabled to consult,
although we can trace two earlier editions, one of
1631, and the other of 1659. The edition of 1678
diifers materially from that of 1709 (!*), copies of
Avhich are neither scarce nor valuable, and arc to
be found in the lil)rary of the British Museum,
and in the collections of Mr. James Orchard
Ilalliwell, and others. This last-named edition,
which is " ])rinted for G. Conyers at the sign of
the Golden ring in Little I)iit;iin," is in the loini
of a chap-book of the commonest description, and
is printed on the coarsest paper, and with the
vilest type, and abounds in misprints, hiati, and
typographical blunders. The edition of 1678
bears internal evidence of being a transcript of the
original work, and it differs from Conyers' copy
in a very important particular ; for while in the
latter are found several poems which are certainly
not by Deloney, all such interpolations are
wanting in the earlier impression. These added
poems arc inserted in the following pages, but
the Editor has distinguished them by asterisks.
Percy, in selecting from the Garland for the
Rcliques, has, it is clear, made use of the editions
of 1678 and 1709 ; for he not only gives one of
the interpolated poems from the latter, but he cor-
rects the text of the genuine ones by the readings of
the former, still further correcting that text by his
celebrated folio MS., and by conjectural emenda-
tion. (See notes to " Truth and Ignorance", and
also those to the " Spanish Lady".) In preparing
our edition of the Garland, we have printed from a
copy of Conyers' edition, lent for the purpose by
Mr. Halliwell, but the text has been collated with
the edition of 1678, and wherever any variation
has occurred, as for instance in the title-page, and
in the names of the poems, we have abided by the
readings of what we must consider as the more
authoritative copy : indeed the name of the pub-
lisher of the earlier edition is some guarantee lor
its correctness ; for John Wright was one of the
leading booksellers of the age, and not, as some
have erroneously asserted, a mere publisher of
ballads and penny histories, like the Marshalls
and Catnachs of the present century. The vignette
on our old title-page is found in both editions,
and the initial letter, at page 1, is copied from
Conyers ; both of these designs have been en-
graved by George Anderson, Esq., of De Beauvoir
Town, by whom they have been presented to the
The Editor intends to follow up the present
work by a republication of some of the other
Garlands mentioned, and quoted from, by Percy,
Evans, and others, ichcn he can discover their
whereabouts, for he has had many an unavailing
search after them. They arc somewhere, but
where is that somewhere? If any of those
numerous correspondents, anonymous and other-
wise, who have favoured the Editor Avith their
suggestions and recommendations on the subject
will be so obliging as to state how he is to reduce
them to practice, the information will be very
thankfully received. It is an easy matter to dress
your hare, but as good Mrs. Glassc says, " catch
TvlUii(jto)L Villa, Jlofitseij,
T H E
Sibiticli mto Cfirce ^am
Pleasant Songs and pretty Poems,
to sundry new Notes.
With a Table to find the Names of
all the Songs.
Written by T. D.
London : Printed for J. Wriglit, at the .sign of the
Cro\Yn, on Ludgate Hill. 1G78.
THE TABLE OF NAMES OF THE SONGS.
THE FIRST PART.
1. The Death of the fair Lady Rosamond - - 1
2. The Lamentation of Shore's Wife - - - 9
3. How King Edgar was deceived of his love - - 12
4. How Coventry was made free by Godina, Countess of
Chester - - - - - 18
!). Of the Duke of Cornwal's Daughter - - 21
(i. A Song of Queen Isabel, Wife to King Edward II - 24
7. The Banishment of the Dukes of Norfolk and Hereford 30
8. The noble Acts of Arthur of the Round Table, and of
Lancelot du Lake - - - - 38
9. A Song in Praise of Women - - - 43
10. A Song in Praise of a Single Life - - - 46
11. The Widdow's Solace, or Comfort in Distress - 49
12. A Gentlewoman's Complaint against her faithless Friend 51
13. How a Prince of England wooed the King's Daughter
of France, and how she was manned to a Forrester 52
14. The faithful friendship of two Friends, Alphonso and
Gonsalo - - - - - 00
THE SECOND PART.
1. A Pastoral Song - - - - 68
2. The Sinner's Redemption - - - 71
3. The godly INIaid of Padstow's Vision in a Trance - 70
4. Patient Grissell and a noble Marquess - - 88
5. A Song between Truth and Tgnoranre - 8y
C. The Overthrow of Proiul Holofenae*, timX the Tiiuinph
of the veitiious Queen Judetli - - - 05
7. A Song in praise of the English Rose - - 103
8. A Communication between Fancy and Desire - 105
THE THIRD PAET.
1. A Maiden's Choice 'twixt Age and Youth - - 107
2. As I came from Walsingham - - - 111
3. The Winning of Cales - - - -113
4. Of King Edward the Thii'd, and the fair Countess of
Salisbury - - - - - 118
5. The Spanish Lady's Love to an Englishman - 125
6. A Farewel to Love . _ . - 129
7. The Lover by his Gifts thinking to conquer Chastity - 130
8. The Woman's Answer - - - - 131
TABLE OF FIRST LINES.
All you that are to mirth inclin'd - - - 71
Among all other things - - - - 43
Amongst the princely jiaragons - - - 103
A noble marquess as he did ride a-hunting - - 82
As you came from the holy land - - - 111
Come hither, shepherd's swain ... 105
Crabbed age and youth . - . - 107
Faith is a figure standing now for nought - - 51
Farewell, false love, the oracle of lies - - 1 29
Foul is the face whose beauty gold can grace - - 131
God speed you, ancient father - - - 89
In stately Rome sometime did dwell - - - 60
In the days of old - - - - - 52
Leofricus that noble earl - - - 18
Listen, fair ladies - - - - - 9
Long had the proud Spaniard ... 113
Mourn no more, fair widdow - - 49
Proud were the Spencers - - - - 24
Some do write of bloody wars - - - 46
The mighty Lord that rules in Heaven - - 76
Two noble dukes of great renown - - - 30
Upon a down where shepherds keep - - - 68
What face so fan* that is not carkt with gold - - 130
When Arthur first in court bogan - - - 38
When as Edward the Third did live - - - 118
AVhen as King Edgar did govern this land - - 12
When as King Henrj- ruled this land - - - 1
When Humber iu his wrathful rage - - - 21
When King Nebuchadnezzar ... !)5
Will yon hear a Spanish lady - - - - 125
Notes - - - - - - 133
Remai'ks on the Tunes - . _ . 145
GAKLANI) OF G()()T)-WIT.L.
THE FIRST TART.
THE DEATH OF THE FAIR LADY ROSAMOND.
To the Tune of ^^ Flyhtfi Fame".
HEN as king Henry rul'd this land
The second of that name,
Besides the queen, he dearly lov'd
A fair and princely dame.
Most peerless was her beauty found,
Her favour and her face,
A sweeter creature in this world,
Did never prince embrace.
Her crisped locks like threads of gold
Appear'd to each man's sight;
Her comely eyes like orient pearls,
Did cast a heavenlv lii'lil ;
The blood within her crystal cheeks,
Did such a colour drive,
As if the lily and the rose
For mastership did strive.
Yea, Ilosamond, fair Rosamond,
Her name was called so.
To whom dame Eleanor our queen,
Was known a mortal foe.
The king, therefore, for her defence
Against this furious queen,
At Woodstock builded such a bower,
The like was never seen :
Most curiously this bower was built.
With stone and timber strong.
An hundred and fifty doors
Did to this bower belong ;
And they so cunningly contriv'd.
With turnings round about,
That none but with a clew of thread
Could enter in or out.
And Cor his love and lady's sake,
That was so fair and bright,
The keeping of this bower he gave
Unto a worthy knight.
OK (;()()])-wi 1,1,.
I'xit lurdmc tluit dotli often i'rown,
Whore she before did .smile,
The king's delight and lady's joy,
Full soon she did beguile.
For why? the king's ungracious son,
Whom he did high advance,
Against his father raised wars
Wilhin the realms of France.
And yet before our comely king.
The English land forsook,
Of Rosamond, that lady fair,
His last farewell he took.
() ! Rosamond,' the only rose
That pleaseth best mine eye.
The fairest rose in all the world
To feed my fantasie.
The flower of mine affected heart.
Whose sweetness doth excel
My royal rose a thousand times,
I bid thee now farewel.
For I must leave my famous flower.
My sweetest Rose, a sj)ace.
And cross the seas to famous I-'raiice,
Proud rebels to abase.
But yet, my rose, be sure thou slialt
My coming shortly see ;
And m my heart, while hence I am,
I'll bear my rose with me.
AVhen Rosamond, that lady fair.
Did hear the king say so.
The sorrows of her grieved heart
Her outward looks did show ;
And from her clear and crystal eyes.
Tears gushed out apace,
Which, like the silver pearled dew,
Ran down her comely face ;
Her lips, like to the coral red.
Did wax both wan and pale.
And for the sorrow she conceiv'd,
Her vital spirits did fail.
And falling down all in a swound,
Before king Henry's face.
Full oft witliin his princely arms
Her body he did embrace.
And twenty times, with watry eyes.
He kist her tender cheek,
I'ntil he had reviv'd again
Her senses mild and meek.
Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose ?
The king did often say :
Because, quoth she, to bloody wars
My lord must part away ;
But since your grace, in foreign coasts,
Among your foes unkind.
Must go to hazard life and limb.
Why should I stay behind ?
Nay, rather let me, like a page.
Thy sword and target bear,
That on my breast the blow may light
That should offend you there.
O ! let me in your royal tent
Prepare your bed at night,
And with sweet baths refresh your grace.
At your return from fight.
So I your presence may enjoy.
No toil I Avill refuse ;
But wanting you my life is death,
Which doth true love abuse.
Content thyself, my dearest love,
Thy rest at home shall be,
In England's sweet and pleasant soil.
For travel fits not thee.
Fair latlies brook not bloody wars,
Sweet peace their pleasures breed ;
The nourisher of heart's content,
Which fancy first did feed.
My rose shall rest in Woodstock bower,
With music's sweet delight;
While I among the piercing pikes
Against my foes do fight.
My rose, in robes of pearl and gold,
With diamonds richly dight,
Shall dance the galliard of my love,
While I my foes do smite.
And you. Sir Thomas, whom I trust
To be my love's defence,
He careful of my royal rose,
When I am parted hence.
And therewithal he fetched a sigh,
As though his heart would break ;
And Rosamond, for very grief,
Not one ])lain word could speak.
And at their parting, well tliey miglil
In heart be grieved sore ;
Alter tluit day, fair Il()sanu)iid
'J'hc kill"- did see no more.
And when his grace had past the seas,
And into France had gone ;
Queen Eleanor, with envious heart,
To Woodstock came anon.
And forth she call'd this trusty knight,
Who kept this curious bower ;
Who, mth this clew of twined thread.
Came from this famous flower.
And when that she had wounded him,
The queen his thread did get ;
Ami went where lady Rosamond
Was like an angel set.
But when the queen with steadfast eye
Beheld her heavenly face,
She was amazed in her mind.
At her exceeding grace.
Cast off thy robes from thee, she said.
That rich and costly be ;
And drink thou up this deadly drauglit.
Which I have brought for thee.
But presently upon her knee
Sweet Rosamond did fall.
And pardon of the q\iecn she crav'd
For her offences all.
Take pity on my youthful years,
Fair Rosamond did cry ;
And let me not with poison strong
Enforced be to die.
I will renounce this sinful life,
And in a cloyster 'bide ;
Or else be banish'd, if you please,
To range the world so wide.
And for that fault which I have done.
Though I was forc'd thereto,
Preserve my life, and punish me
As you think good to do.
And with these words- her lilly hands
She wrung full often there ;
And down along her comely face
Proceeded many a tear.
But nothing could this furious queen
Therewith appeased be ;
The cup of deadly poison fill'd,
As she sat on her knee.
She gave this comely dame to drink.
Who took it in her hand ;
And from her bended knee arose,
And on her feet did stand ;
And casting up her eyes to heaven,
She did for mercy call ;
And drinking up the poison strong,
Her life she lost withal.
And when that death through every limb
Had done her greatest spite,
Her chiefest foes did plain confess
She was a glorious wight.
Her body then they did entomb,
When life was fled away ;
At Woodstock, near to Oxford town,
As may be seen this day.
THE LAMENTATION OF SHORE'S WIFE.
To the Tunc of " The Hunt /;>• up".
Listen, fair ladies,
Unto my miseries,
That lived late in pomp and state most delightfully ;
And now to fortune's fair dissimulation.
Brought in cruel and uncouth plagues most piteously,
Shore's wife I am,
So known by name ;
10 THE GARLAND
And at the Flower-de-luce, in C-heapside, was luy
The only daughter of a wealthy merchant man,
Against whose counsel I was evermore rebelling.
Young was I loved ;
No action moved
My heart or mind, to give or yield to their consenting,
My parent's thinking strictly for to wed me,
Forcing me to take that which caused my repenting.
Then being wedded,
I was quickly tempted ;
My beauty caused many gallants to salute me.
The king commanded, and I straight obeyed ;
For his chiefest jewel then he did repute me.
Bravely was I trained,
Like a queen I reigned,
And poor men's suits by me were obtained.
In all the court, to none was such great re.sorl,
As unto me, though now in scorn I be disdained.
When the king died.
My grief was tried ;
From the court I was expelled with despiglit.
The duke of Gloucester, being lord protector,
Took away my goods against all law and riglil.
And a procession,
l''()r my transgression,
OF G001)-AVII,L. ' 11
Bare-footed he made me go for to shame me ;
A cross before me there was carried plainly,
As a penance to my former life for to tame me.
Then through London,
Being thus undone,
The lord protector published a proclamation,
On pain of death I should not be harbour'd;
Which furthermore encreas'd my sorrow and vexation.
I that had plenty,
And dishes dainty,
Most sumptuously brought to my board at my pleasure ;
Being full poor, from door to door
I beg my bread mth clack and dish at my leisure.
My rich attire,
By fortune's ire,
To rotten rags and nakedness they are beaten.
My body soft, which the king embraced oft,
With vermin vile annoy' d and eat on.
On stalls and stones.
Did lie my bones,
That wonted was in bed of down lo l)e placed :
And you see my finest jjillows be
Of stinking straw, with dirt and dung thus disgraccil.
Wherefore, fair ladies.
With your sweet babies,
12 THE GARLAND
My grievous fall- bear in your mind, and behold me
How strange a thing, that the love of a king
Should come to die under a stall, as I told ye.
A SONG OF KING EDGAR, SHEWING HOW HE
WAS DECEB'ED OF HIS LOVE, &c.
To the Tune oi '■^ LabanduUsJwt".
When as king Edgar did govern this land,
AdoAVB, adown, down, down, down,
And in the strength of his years he did stand,
Call him down -a ;
Such praise was spread of a gallant dame,
Which did through England carry great fame ;
And she a lady of high degree.
The earl of Devonshire's daughter was she.
The king, which lately had bury'd the queen.
And not long time a widower been,
Hearing this praise of a gallant maid,
Upon her beauty his love he laid ;
And in his mind he would often say,
I will send for that lady gay ;
Yea, I will send for this lady bright,
Which is my treasure and delight ;
Whose beauty, like to Phoebus' beams,
OF fiOOD-WIT.T,. 13
Doth glitter througli all clivisliun realms.
Then to himself he would reply ;
Saying, how fond a prince am I,
To cast my love so base and low,
Upon a girl I do not know !
King Edgar will his fancy frame
To love some peerless princely dame.
The daughter of a royal king,
That may a dainty dowry bring :
Whose matchless beauty, brought in place.
May Estrild's colour clean disgrace.
But, senseless man, what do I mean.
Upon a broken reed to lean ?
Or what fond fury did me move,
Thus to abuse my dearest love ?
Whose visage, grac'd with heavenly hue,
Doth Ellen's honour quite subdue.
The glory of her beauteous pride.
Sweet Estrild's father doth deride.
Then pardon my unseemly speech,
Dear love and lady, I beseech,
For I my thoughts will henceforth frame,
To spread the honour of thy name.
Then imto him he call'd a knight.
Which was most trusty in his sight,
And unto him thus did he say,
To carl Orgator, Go thy way,
Where ask for Estrild, comely dame,
Whose beauty went so "far by fame;
And if you find her comely grace,
14 THE GART.AXI)
As fame did spread in every ])lace ;
Then tell her father she shall be
My cro^\Tled queen, if she agree.
The knight in message did proceed,
And into Devonshire went with speed ;
But when he saw the lady bright,
He was so ra\'isht at her sight,
That nothing could his passion move.
Except he might obtain her love.
For day and night while there he staid,
He courted still this peerless maid ;
And in his suit he shew'd such skill,
That at the length he gain'd her good-will ;
Forgetting quite the duty tho'
Which he unto the king did owe.
Then coming home unto his grace.
He told him with dissembling face,
That those reporters were to blame,
That so advanc'd the maiden's name :
For I assure your grace, said he.
She is as other women be ;
Her beauty, of such great report,
No better than the common sort ;
And far immeet in every thing,
To matcli with such a noble king.
But though her face be nothing fair.
Yet sith she is her father's heir.
Perhaps some Invd of high degree
Would very fain her husband be.
Then if your grace would give consent,
OF G()()1)-AVIT,L. 15
I would myself be well content
The dannsel for my wife to take,
For her great lands' and livings' sake.
The king, whom thus he did deceive,
Incontinent did give him leave ;
For on this point he did not stand ;
For why? he had not need of land.
Then being glad he went away.
And wedded straight this lady gay.
The fairest creature bearing life,
Had this false knight unto his wife ;
And by that match of high degree.
An earl soon after that was he.
Ere he long time had married been,
That many had her beauty seen,
Her praise was spread both far and near ;
The king again thereof did hear ;
Who then in heart did plainly prove
He was betrayed of his love :
Though, therefore, he was vexed sore.
Yet seem'd he not to grieve therefore ;
But kept his count'nance good and kind,
As though he bore no grudge in mind.
But on a day it came to pass,
When as the king full merry was,
To Ethelwold in sport, he said,
I muse what chear there should be made,
If to thy house I should resort
A night or two for ])rinoely s})()rt r
Hereat the earl shcw'd count'nance iilad,
1(3 THE GARLAND
Though in his heart he was full sad ;
Saying, your grace shall welcome be,
If so your grace will honour me.
Then as the day appointed was,
Before the king did thither pass,
The earl before hand did prepare
The king his coming to declare.
And with a count'nance passing grim,
He call'd his lady unto him ;
Saying, with sad and heavy cheer, ■
I pray you, when the king comes here.
Sweet lady, as you tender me.
Let your attire but homely be ;
Nor wash not thou thy angel's face.
But so thy beauty clean disgrace ;
Thereto thy gesture so apply,
It may seem loathsome to the eye.
For if the king should there behold
Thy glorious beauty so extoll'd.
Then shall my life soon shorten' d be.
For my deserts and treachery.
When to thy father first I came,
Though I did not declare the same,
Yet was I put in trust to bring
The joyful tidings to the king;
Who, for thy glorious beauty seen.
Did think of thee to make his queen.
But when I had thy person found,
Tliy beauty gave me such a wound.
No rest nor comfort could 1 take.
OF GOOD-AVILL. 17
Till you, sweet love, my grief did slake ;
And tho' that duty charged me,
Most faithful to my lord to be,
Yet love, upon the other side.
Bid for my self I should provide.
Then for my suit and service shown,
At length I won you for my own:
And for my love in wedlock spent.
Your choice you need no whit repent :
Then since my grief I have expresst,
Sweet lady, grant me my request.
Good words she gave with smiling chear.
Musing of that which she did hear ;
And casting many things in mind.
Great fault therewith she seem'd to find ;
But in her self she thought it shame.
To make that foul which God did frame.
Most costly robes full rich therefore.
In bravest sort that day she wore ;
Doing all that e'er she might,
To set her beauty forth to sight :
And her best skill in every thing
She shew'd to entertain the king.
^\^lcrefore the king so 'snared was,
That reason quite from him did pass :
His heart by her was set on fire,
He had to her a great desire ;
And for the looks he gave her then,
For ever}^ look she shew'd him ten.
Wherefore the king perceived plain,
18 THE GARJ.AND
His love and looks were not in vain.
Upon a time it chanced so,
The king he Avoiild a hunting go ;
And as they through a wood did ride,
The earl on horse-back by his side,
For so the story telleth plain,
That with a shaft the earl was slain.
So that when he had lost his life,
He took the lady unto wife ;
"WTio manied her, all harm to shun.
By whom he did beget a son.
Thus he that did the king deceive.
Did by desert his death receive :
Then to conclude and make an end,
Be triie and faithful to thy friend.
HOW COVENTRY WAS MADE FREE BY GODINA,
COUNTESS OF CHESTER.
To the Tune of " Prince Arthur died at Ludlow", <tc.
Leofricus, that noble earl
Of Chester, as I read.
Did for the city of Coventry
Many a noble deed.
Great privileges for the town
This noble man did get;
And of all things did make it so,
That they toll-free did sit.
OF nooD-wrr,!.. 19
Save only that for horses still
They did some custom pay,
Which was great charges to the town,
Full long and many a day.
Wherefore his vdie Godina fair,
Did of the earl request,
That therefore he would make it free,
As well as all the rest.
So when that she long time had sued.
Her pui-pose to obtain.
Her noble lord at length she took
Within a pleasant vein :
And unto him with smiling cheav,
She did forthwith proceed.
Entreating greatly that he would
Perform that goodly deed.
You move me much, my fair, quoth he,
Your suit I fain would shun ;
But what will you perform and do.
To have this matter done ?
Why any thing, my lord (quoth she).
You will with reason crave ;
I will perfoiTn it with good will,
If I my wish might have.
20 THE GARLAND
If thou wilt grant the thing, he said,
What I shall now require,
As soon as it is finished,
Thou shalt have thy desire.
Command what you think good, my lord,
I will thereto agree,
On this condition : that the town
For ever may be free.
If thou wilt thy cloaths strip off.
And hereby lay them down.
And at noon-day on horse-back ride
Stark naked through the town,
They shall be free for evermore :
If thou wdlt not do so,
More liberty than now they have
I never will bestow.
The lady at this strange demand.
Was much abasht in mind ;
And yet for to fulfil this thing.
She never a whit repin'd.
Wherefore unto all officers
Of the town she sent,
That they perceiving her good will,
Which for the weal was bent ;
That on the day that she shoukl ride,
All persons through the town,
Should keep then- houses, shut their doors,
And clap their windows down ;
So that no creature, young or old,
Should in the streets be seen,
Till she had ridden all about,
Throughout the city clean.
And when the day of riding came,
No person did her see.
Saving her lord ; after which time.
The town was ever free.
OF THE DUKE OF CORNWAL'S DAUGHTER.
To the Tune of " In Greece ".
When Humber, in his wrathful rage.
King Albanack in field had slain ;
Whose bloody broils for to asswage.
King Locrin then apply' d his pain;
And with a host of Britons stout.
At length he fovmd king Humber out.
At vantage great he met him then.
And with his host beset him so,
That he destroy' d his warlike men.
And Humber' s power did overthrow;
22 THE GARLAXD
And Humber, which for fear did fly.
Leapt into a river desp'rately :
And being drowned in the deep,
He left a lady there alive,
Which sadly did lament and weep,
For fear they should her life deprive.
But by her face, that Avas so fan-,
The king was caught in Cupid's snare.
He took this lady to his love,
Who secretly did keep it still.
So that the queen did quickly prove
The king did bear her much good-will.
WTiich though by wedlock late begun,
He had by her a gallant son.
Queen Guendoline was griev'd in mind
To see the king was alter' d so;
At length the cause she chanc'd to find.
Which brought her to most bitter woe.
For Estrild was his joy (God wot).
By whom a daughter he begot.
The duke of Cornwal being dead.
The father of that gallant queen,
The king with lust being overlaid,
His lawful wife he cast off clean :
Who, with her dear and tender son.
F'or succour did in Cornwal run.
OF GOOD-WILL. 23
Then Locrin crowned Estrild bright,
And made of her his la\vful wife ;
With her, which was his heart's delight.
He sweetly thought to lead his life.
Thus Guendoline, as one forlorn,
Did hold her wretched life in scorn.
But when the Cornish men did know
The great abuse she did endure,
With her a number great did go,
WTiich she by prayer did procure.
In battel then they marcht along.
For to redress this grievous wrong;
And near a river called Store,
The king with all his host she met ;
Where both the armies fovight full sore,
But yet the queen the field did get.
Yet ere they did the conquest gain.
The king was with an arrow slain.
Then Guendoline did take in hand,
Until her son was come to age,
The government of all the land.
But first her fury to asswagc,
She did command her soldiers wild,
To drown both Estrild and her child.
Incontinent then did they bring
Fair Estrild to the river side,
24 THE GARLAND
And Sabrine, daughter to a king,
Whom Guendoline could not abide :
Who, being bound together fast,
Into the river there were cast :
And ever since, that running stream,
Wherein the ladies droAvned were,
Is called Savem through the realm,
Because that Sabrine died there.
Thus those that did to lewdness bend.
Were brought unto a woful end.
A SONG OF QUEEN ISABEL, WIFE TO KING
EDWAED THE SECOND, WITH THE DOWN-
FALL OF THE SPENCERS.
Proud were the Spencers, and of condition ill,
All England, and the king likewise, they ruled at their
And many lords and nobles of the land.
Through their occasions lost their lives, and none did
And at the last they did encrease much grief,
Between the king and Isabel, his queen and faithful
So that her life she dreaded wondrous sore.
And cast within her secret thoughts some present help
OF GOOD-AVILL. 25
Then she requests, with count'nance grave and sage,
That she to Thomas Becket's tomb might go on
Then being joyful to have that happy chance.
Her son and she took ships with speed, and sailed into
And royally she was received then
By the king and all the rest of peers and noblemen ;
And unto him at last she did express
The cause of her arrival there, her cause and heaviness.
When as her brother her grief did understand.
He gave her leave to gather men throughout this
famous land ;
And made a promise to aid her evermore.
As often as she should stand in need of gold and silver
But when indeed she did require the same.
He was as far from doing it as when she thither came ;
And did proclaim, whilst matters were so seen,
That none, on pain of death, should go to aid the
This alteration did greatly grieve the queen,
That down along her comely face the bitter tears were
When she perceiv'd her friends forsook her so.
She knew not for her safety which way to turn or go.
26 THE GAKIiAXD
But through good hap, at last she then decreed
To seek in fruitful Germany some succour to this need :
And to Sir John Hainault then went she,
Who entertain' d this woeful queen with great solemnity.
And ^^'ith great sorrow to him she then complain' d.
Of all her griefs and injuries which she of late sustain' d.
So that with weeping she dinmi'd her princely sight,
The cause whereof did greatly grieve that noble
courteous knight ;
Who made an oath he would her champion be,
And in her quarrel spend his blood, from wrong to set
her free ;
And all my friends, with whom I may prevail,
Shall help for to advance your state, whose truth no
time shall fail.
And in his promise most faithful he was found,
And many lords of great account were in his voyage
So setting forward with a goodly train,
At length, through God's especial grace, into England
At Harwich then, when they were ashore,
(Jf English lords and barons bold there came to her
great store ;
Which did rejoice the queen's afflicted heart,
That English lords in such sort came for to take her
OF GOOD-WILL. 27
When as king Edward tliereol' did understand,
How that the queen with such a power was enter' d on
his land ;
And how his nobles were gone to take her part,
He fled from London presently, even with a heavy
And A\'ith the Spencers unto Bristol did go.
To fortifie that gallant town great cost he did bestow ;
Leaving behind, to govern London town.
The stout bishop of Exeter, whose pride was soon
The Mayor of London, with citizens great store,
The bishop, and the Spencers both, in heail they did
Therefore they took him without fear or dread.
And at the Standard, in Cheapside, they smote off his
Unto the queen this message then they sent,
The city of London was at her commandement.
Wherefore the queen, with all her company,
Did strait to Bristol march amain, whereat the king did
Then she besieged the city round about,
Thrcatning sharp and cruel death to those that were so
Wherefore the townsmen, their children, and their
28 THE GARLAND
Did yield the city to the queen, for safeguard of their
Where was took, the story plain doth tell,
Sir Hugh Spencer, and with him the Earl of Arundel.
This judgment just, the nobles did set down ;
They should be drawn and hanged, both, in sight of
Then was king Edward in the castle there.
And Hugh Spencer still with him, in dread and deadly
And being prepar'd from thence to sail away.
The winds were found contrary, they were enforc'd to
But at last Sir John Beaumont, knight,
Did bring his sailing ship to shore, and so did stay
And so these men were taken speedily
And brought as prisoners to the queen who did in Bristol
The queen, by counsel of the lords and barons bold.
To Barkley sent the king, there to be kept in hold :
And young Hugh Spencer, that did much ill procure,
Was to the marshal of the host sent unto keeping sure.
And then the queen to Hereford took her way,
With all her warlike company, which late in Bristol lay :
OF Gooj)-wir.r,. 29
And here behold liow Spencer was,
From town to town, even as the queen to Hereford did
Upon a jade, which they by chance had found,
Young Spencer mounted was, with legs and hands fast
A writing paper along as he did go,
Upon his head he had to wear, which did his treason
And to deride this traytor lewd and ill,
Certain men with reeden pipes, did blow before him still ;
Thus was he led along in every place.
While many people did rejoyce, to see his strange
When unto Hereford our noble queen was come.
She did assemble all the lords and knights, both all
and some ;
And in their presence young Spencer judgment had.
To be both hang'd and quartered, his treasons were so
Then was the king deposed of his croA\Ti,
From rule, and princely dignity, the lords did cast him
And in his life, his son both wise and sage.
Was crown' d king of fair England, at fifteen years of
30 THE GARLAKU
A SONG OF THE BANISHMENT OF THE TWO
DUKES OF HEREFORD AND NORFOLK.
Two noble dukes of great renown,
That long had liv'd in fame,
Through hateful envy were cast down,
And brought to sudden shame.
The duke of Hereford was the one,
A prudent prince and wise,
'Gainst Avhom such malice there was shown,
Which soon in fight did rise.
The duke of Norfolk, most untrue,
Declar'd unto the king,
The duke of Hereford greatly grew
In hatred of each thing,
Which by his grace was acted still,
Against both high and low ;
How he had a trait' reus will
His state to overthrow.
The duke of Hereford, then in haste,
Was sent for to the king;
And by the lords in order plac'd,
Examin'd of each thing.
OF OOOD-AVIM.. 31
Who being guiltless of this crime,
Which was against him laid,
The duke of Norfolk at that time,
These words unto him said :
How canst thou, with a shameless face,
Deny a truth so stout ;
And here before his royal grace.
So falsly face it out ?
Did not these wicked treasons pass.
When we together were,
How that the king unworthy was,
The royal crown to bear?
Wherefore, my gracious lord, quoth he,
And you his noble peers,
To whom I wish long life to be,
With many happy years ;
I do pronounce before you all,
This treacherous lord that's here ;
A traytor to our noble king.
As time shall shew it clear.
The duke of Hereford hearing that.
In mind was grieved much.
And did return this answer flat,
Which did duke Norfolk touch.
32 THE GARLAND
The term of traytor, truthless duke,
In scorn and great disdain,
With flat defiance to thy face
I do return again.
And therefore, if it please your grace
To grant me leave, quoth he,
To comb ate with my unkno^vn foe
That here accuseth me ;
I do not doubt, but plainly prove,
That like a perjured knight,
He hath most falsly sought my shame,
Against all truth and right.
The king did grant this just request,
And did therewith agree,
At Coventry, in August next,
This combate fought should be.
The dukes on sturdy steeds full stout,
In coats of steel most bright.
With spears in rests, did enter lists.
This combate fierce to fight.
The king then cast his warder down,
Commanding them to stay ;
And with his lords he counsel took.
To stint that mortal fray.
OF GOOn-AVIM,. 33
At length unto these noble dukes
The kmg of heraulds came,
And unto them with lofty speech
This sentence did proclaim :
Sir Henry BuUenbrook, this day,
The duke of Hereford here,
And Thomas Mauberry, Norfolk duke,
So valiantly did appear ;
And having, in honourable sort.
Repaired to this place,
Our noble king, for special cause.
Had altcr'd thus the case.
First, Henry, duke of Hereford,
Ere fifteen days be past,
Shall part the realm on pain of death.
While ten years' space doth last.
And Thomas, duke of Norfolk now,
That hath begun this strife,
And thereof no good proof can bring,
I say for term of life ;
By judgment of our soveraign lord,
Which now in place doth stand,
For evermore I banish thee
Out of thy native land.
34 THE GARLANP
Charging thee, on pain of death,
When fifteen days are past,
Thou never tread on English ground
So long as life doth last.
Thus they were sworn before the king,
Ere they did further pass,
The one should never come in place,
Where as the other was.
Then both the dukes, with heavy hearts,
Were parted presently.
The uncouth streams of froward chance.
Of foreign lands to try.
The duke of Norfolk coming then,
Where he would shipping take,
The bitter tears ran down his cheeks,
And thus his moan did make :
Now let me sigh and sob my fill.
Ere I from hence depart,
That inward pangs with speed may burst
My sore afflicted heart.
Oh cursed man ! whose loathed life
Is held so nmch in scorn.
Whose company is clean despis'd.
And left as one forlorn,
OF fi()or»-wir-T,. 35
Now take thy leave and last adieu
Of this thy country dear,
Which never more thou must behold,
Nor yet approach it near.
Happy should I account my self.
If death my heart had torn ;
That I might have my bones entomb' d
Where I was bred and born.
Or that by Neptune's wrathful rage,
I might be prest to die,
Whilst that sweet England's pleasant banks
Did stand before mine eye.
How sweet a scent hath English ground
Within my senses now !
How fair unto my outward sight
Seem every branch and bough !
The fields and flowers, the streets and stones,
Seem such unto my mind,
That in all other countries sure
The like I ne'er shall find.
O ! that the sun, with shining face,
Would stay his steed by strength.
That this same day might stretched be
To twenty years in length ;
36 THE GARLAND
And that the true-performing tycle
Her hasty course would stay ;
That Eolus would never yield
To bear me hence away.
That by the fountain of my eyes
The fields might water' d be ;
That I might grave my grievous plaint
Upon each springing tree.
But time, I see, with eagle's wings,
So swift doth fly away.
And dusky clouds begin to dim
The brightness of the day.
The fatal hour draweth on.
The winds and tydes agree ;
And now, sweet England, oversoon,
I must depart from thee.
The mariners have hoised sail,
And call to catch me in ;
And now in woefid heart I feel
My torments to begin.
Wherefore, farewel for evermore,
Sweet England, unto thee ;
But farewel, all my friends, which I
Again shall never see.
OF GOOD-WILL. 37
And, England, here I kiss thy ground.
Upon my bended knee,
Whereby to shew to all the world
How dearly I love thee.
This being said, away he went,
As fortune did him guide :
And at the length with grief of heart
In Venice there he dy'd.
The noble duke in doleful sort
Did lead his life in France ;
And at the last the mighty lord
Did him full high advance.
The lords of England afterwards
Did send for him again ;
While that king Richard at the wars
In Ireland did remain.
Who, by the vile and great abvisc,
Which through his deeds did spring,
Deposed was ; and then the duke
Was truly crowned king.
38 THE OAKLAND
THE NOBLE ACTS OF AETHUE, OF THE EOUND
TABLE, AND OF LANCELOT DU LAKE.
To the Tune of ^^ Flying Fame".
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approved king,
By force of arms great victories won,
And conquests home did bring ;
Then into Britain straight he came,
Where fifty good and able
Knights then repaired unto him,
Which were of the Round Table ;
And many justs and tournaments
Before them there were drest,
Where valiant knights did then excel.
And far surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approved well,
He in his fights and deeds of arms,
All others did excel.
When he had rested him a while,
To play, to game, and sport.
He thought he would go try himself,
In some adven'trous sort.
OF GOOD-AVILL. 39
He armed rode in forest wide,
And met a damsel fair,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave good ear.
Why should I not r quoth Lancelot, tho'
For that cause I came hither.
Thou seem'st, quoth she, a goodly knight,
And I will bring thee thither,
Whereas the mighty knight doth dwell,
That now is of great fame ;
Therefore tell me what knight thou art,
And then what is your name r
My name is Lancelot dii Lake.
Quoth she, it likes me than ;
Here dwells a knight that never was
E'er match' d with any man ;
Who has in prison threescore knights.
And four that he has bound ;
Knights of king Arthur's court they be.
And of his Table Round.
She brought him to a river side.
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung.
His fellow shields to see.
40 THE GARLAXD
He struck so hard, the bason broke :
WTien Tarquin heard the sound,
He drove a horse before him straight,
AMiereon a knight lay bound.
Sir knight, then said Sir Lancelot,
Bring me that horse-load hither.
And lay him down, and let him rest ;
We'll try our force together.
And as I understand thou hast,
So far as thou art able,
Done great despite and shame imto
The knights of the Round Table.
If thou be of the Table Round,
(Quoth Tarquin, speedilye).
Both thee and all thy fellowship
I utterly defie.
That's overmuch, quoth Lancelot though ;
Defend thee by and by.
They put their spurs unto their steeds,
And each at otlier fly.
They coucht their spears, and horses ran.
As though there had been thunder :
And each struck them amidst the shield,
"Wherewith they broke in sunder.
OF GOOD-WILL. 41
Their horses' backs brake under them,
The knights were both astound ;
To 'void their horses, they made great haste
To light upon the ground.
They took them to their shields full fast.
Their swords they drew out than ;
With mighty strokes most eagerly
Each one at other ran.
They woimded were, and bled full sore,
For breath they both did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
Quoth Tarquin, Hold thy hand !
And tell to me what I shall ask :
Say on, quoth Lancelot though ;
Thou art, quoth Tarquin, the best knight
That ever I did know.
And like a knight that I did hate ;
So that thou be not he,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee.
That is well said, quoth Lancelot, then,
But sith it must be so,
What is the knight thou hatest so,
I pray thee to me show r
42 THK GARLA^'D
His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother dear;
Him I suspect of all the rest ;
I would I had him here.
Thy -svish thou hast, but yet unknown ;
I am Lancelot du Lake !
Now knight of Arthur-' s Table Round,
Kind Hand's son of Seuwake ;
And I desire thee do thy worst :
Ho ! ho ! quoth Tarquin though.
One of us two shall end our lives
Before that we do go.
If thou be Lancelot du Lake,
Then welcome shalt thou be ;
Wherefore see thou thyself defend,
For now defie I thee.
They buckled then together so,
Like two wild boars rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another flashing.
The ground besprinlilcd was with blood,
Tarquin began to faint ;
For he gave back, and bore his shield,
So low, he did repent.
OF GOOD-WIM,. 43
This soon 'spied Sir Lancelot though,
He leapt ujion him then,
He pull'd him down upon his knee,
And, rushing off his helm,
And then he struck his neck in two ;
And when he had done so, "
From prison, threescore knights and four
Lancelot delivered though.
A SONG IN PRAISE OF WOMEN.
To a pleasant new Tune, called, " My Va}eiiti)ie".
Amoncj all other things
That God hath made beneath the sky,
Most glorious to satisfie the curious eye
Of mortal men withal,
The sight of Eve,
Did soonest fit his fancy ;
Whose courtesie and amity most speedily
Had caught his heart in thrall ;
Whom he did love so dear.
As plainly doth appear,
He made her queen of all the world, and mistress of
his heart ;
The' afterwards she wrought his avoc, his death
and deadly smart.
44 THE GARLAND
What need I speak
Of matters passed long ago ?
Which all men know I need not show, to high or low,
The case it is so plain :
Altho' that Eve
Committed then so great offence.
Ere she went hence, a recompence, in defence,
She made mankind again :
For by her blessed seed,
We are redeem'd indeed.
Why should not then all mortal men esteem of
women well ?
And love their wives, even as their lives, as nature
doth compel ?
A virtuous wife
The scripture doth commend ; and say,
That night and day, she is a stay from all decay.
To keep her husband still ;
She useth not
To give herself a wandring,
Or flattering, or prattling, or any thing
To do her neighbour ill ;
But all her mind is bent.
His pleasure to content;
Her faithful love doth not remove foi any storm or
Then is he not well blest, think yc, that meets with
such a wife ?
O"^ GOOD-WILL. 45
But now methinks
I hear some men do say to me,
Few such there be, in each degree and quality
At this day to be found ;
Some men do set their whole delight.
Both day and night, with all despite, to brawl and
Their rage doth so abound :
But sure I think and say,
Here comes no such to day ;
Nor do I know of any she, that is within this place,
And yet for fear, I dare not swear, it is so hard a
But to conclude ;
For maids, and wives, and virgins all.
Both great or small, in bower or hall, to pray I shall,
So long as life doth last.
That they may live.
With heart's content, and perfect peace,
That joy's increase may never cease, till death
The care that crept so fast :
For beauty doth me bind.
To have them all in mind ;
Even for her sake, that doth us make so merry to be
The glory of the female kind, I mean our noble
46 THE GARLAND
A SONG IX PRAISE OF A SINGLE LIFE.
To the Time of " The Ghost's Hearse'.
Some do -wTite of bloodj' wars,
Some do shew the several jars
'Twixt men, through envy raised;
Some in praise of princes write,
Some set their whole delight
To hear fair beauty blazed :
Some other persons are moved
For to praise where they are loved :
And let lovers praise beauty as they will,
Otherways I am intended :
True love is little regarded.
And often goes imrewarded :
Then to avoid all strife,
I'll resolve to lead a single life,
Whereby the heart is not offended.
O what a suit and service too
Is used by them that woo I
O what grief in heart and mind,
What sorrow we do find.
Through woman's fond behaviour !
Subject to suffer each hour,
And speeches sharp and sour,
And labour, love, and cost,
Perchance 'tis but all lost,
or (iooD-wiLL. 47
And no way to be amended ;
And so purchase pleasure,
And after repent at leisure.
Then to avoid all strife, &c.
To man in wedded state,
Doth happen much debate,
Except by God's special favour;
If his wife be proudly bent.
Or secretly consent
To any lewd behaviour :
If she be slothful or idle.
Or such as her tongue cannot bridle,
Oh ! then well were he.
If death his bane would be ;
No sorrow else can be amended ;
For look how long he were living,
Evermore he would be grieving.
Then to avoid all strife, &c.
Married folks we often hear,
Even through their children dear,
Have many causes of sorrows.
If disobedient they be found,
Or false in any ground.
By their unlawful forays ;
To see such wicked fellows,
Shamefully come unto the gallows,
Whom parents with great care.
Nourished with dainty fare,
48 THE OAKLAND
From their birth truly tended ;
"SVlien as their mothers before them,
Do curse the day that e'er they bore them.
Then to avoid all strife, &c.
Do we then behold and see,
AVhen men and wives agree,
And live together.
Where the Lord hath sent them eke
Fair children mild and meek,
Like flowers in summer weather ;
How greatly are they grieved.
And will not by joy be relieved ;
If that death doth call,
Either wife or children small,
Whom their virtues do commend ;
Their losses whom they thus loved,
From their hearts cannot be moved.
Then to avoid all strife, &c.
Who being in that happy state,
Would work himself such hate,
His fancy for to follow ?
Or, living here devoid of strife.
Would take to him a wife.
For to procure his sorrow ?
With carping and with caring.
Evermore must be sparing ;
Were he not worse than mad.
Being merry, Avoiild be sad r
OF GOOD-WILL. 49
Were he to be commended,
That e'er would seek much pleasure,
Where grief is all his treasure ?
Then to avoid all strife, &c.
THE WIDDOW'S SOLACE.
To the Tune of " Robinson Almain.'
Mourn no more, fair widdow,
Thy tears are all in vain ;
'Tis neither grief nor sorrow.
Can call the dead again :
Man's well enough compared
Unto the summer's flower.
Which now is fair and pleasant,
Yet withereth in an hour :
And mourn no more in vain.
As one whose faith is small ;
Be patient in affliction.
And give God thanks for all.
All men are born to die.
The scripture telleth plain :
Of earth we were created.
To earth we must again ;
'Twas not Croesus' treasure,
Nor Alexander's fame,
50 THK GART.AXIJ
Nor Solomon by wisdom,
That could death's fury tame;
No physick might preserve them,
When nature did decay ;
What man can hold fur ever,
The thing that will away ?
Then mourn no more, &c.
Though you have lost your husband,
Your comfort in distress ;
Consider God regardeth
The widdow's heaviness :
And hath strictly charged,
Such as his children be,
The fatherless and widdow
To shield from injury.
Then mourn no more, &c.
If he were true and faithful,
And loving unto thee.
Doubt not but there's in England,
Enough as good as he ;
But if that such affection,
Within his heart was none,
Then give God praise and glory.
That he is dead and gone.
And mourn no more, &c.
Receive such suitors friendly,
As do resort to thee ;
Respect not the outward person,
But the inward gravity :
And with advised judgment,
Chuse him above the rest.
Whom thou by proof hast tried,
And found to be the best.
Then moiu-n no more, &c.
Then shalt thou live a life
Exempt from all annoy ;
And whensoever it chanceth,
I pray God give thee joy.
And thus I make an end,
With true humility ;
In hope my simple solace
May well accepted be.
Then mourn no more, &c.
A GENTLEWOMAN'S COMPLAINT AGAINST HER
FAITHLESS FRIEND, &c.
Faith is a figure standing now for nought ;
Faith is a fancy we ought to cast in thought ;
Faith now-a-days, as all the world may see,
Resteth in few, and faith is fled from thee.
Is there any faith in strangers to be found ?
Is there any faith lies hidden in the ground r
52 THE GARLAND
Is there any faith in men that buried be ?
No, there is none ; and faith is fled from thee.
Fled is the faith that might remain in any ;
Fled is the faith that should remain in many ;
Fled is the faith that should in any be ;
Then farewel hope, for faith is fled from thee.
From faith I see that all things are a dying ;
From faith I see that every one is flying ;
They from faith, that most in faith should be,
And faithless thou, that brake thy faith to me.
Thee have I sought, but thee I could not find ;
Thou of all others most within my mind ;
Thee have I left, and I alone will be,
Because I find that faith is fled from thee.
HOW A PRINCE OF ENGLAND WOOED THE KING'S
DAUGHTER OF FRANCE, AND HOW SHE
WAS MARRIED TO A FORRESTER.
To the Tune of " Crimson Velvet".
In the days of old.
When fair France did flourish,
Stories plainly told.
Lovers felt annoy ;
The king a daughter had.
Beauteous, fair, and lovely,
OF GOOD- WILL. i>ii
Which made her father glad,
She was his only joy.
A prince of England came,
Whose deeds did merit fame,
He woo'd her long, and lo ! at last,
Took what he did require ;
She granted his desire.
Their hearts in one were linked fas*^
Which when her father proved,
Lord ! how he was moved
And tormented in his mind :
He sought for to prevent them,
And to discontent them ;
Fortune crosses lovers kind.
When as these princely twain
Were thus debarr'd of pleasure,
Through the king's disdain,
Which their joys withstood.
The lady lockt up close
Her jewels and her treasure
Having no remorse
Of state or royal blood.
In homely poor array,
She went to court away.
To meet her love and heart's delight;
Who in a forest great,
Had taken up his scat
To wait her coming in the night.
But lo ! what sudden danger.
To this princely stranger.
54 THE GAKL.V>D
Chanced as he sat alone;
By outlaws he was robbed,
And A^ith pomard stabbed,
Uttering many a dying groan ;
The princess armed by him,
And by true desire,
Wandering all that night.
Without dread at all :
Still unkno■\^^l, she past
In her strange attire,
Coming at the last
Within echo's call.
You, fair woods, quoth she.
Honoured may you be,
Harbouring my heart's delight ;
Which doth encompass here,
My joy and only dear.
My trusty friend, and comely knight
Sweet ! I come unto thee,
Sweet ! I come to wooe thee.
That thou may'st not angry be ;
For my long delaying.
And thy courteous staying,
Amends for all I make to thee.
Passing thus alone,
Through the silent forest
Many a grievous groan
Sounded in her ear ;
Where she heard a man
To Inmcnt the sorest
Chance that ever came,
Forc'd by deadly fear ;
Farewel ! my dear, quoth he,
Whom I shall never see ;
For why ? my life is at an end ;
For thy sweet sake I die,
Through villain's cruelty.
To shew I am a faithful friend ;
Here lie I a-bleeding.
While my thoughts are feeding
On the rarest beauty found ;
O ! hard hap that may be,
Little knows my lady
My heart-blood lies on the ground.
With that he gave a groan,
That did break asunder
All the tender strings
Of his gentle heart ;
She who knew his voice.
At his tale did wonder ;
All her former joys
Did to grief convert ;
Straight she ran to see,
Who this man should be,
That so like her love did speak ;
And found when as she came,
Her lovely lord lay slain,
Smeer'd in blood, whicli life did break :
Which when tluit she espied,
Lord ! how sore she cricil,
56 THE GAKLAXD
Her sorrows could not counted be ;
Her eyes like fountains running,
While she cryed out, My darling.
Would God that I had dy'd for thee!
His pale lips, alas !
Twenty times she kissed,
And his face did Avash
With her brinish tears ;
Every bleeding wound.
Her fair face bedewed ;
Wiping off the blood
With her golden hairs.
Speak, fair prince, to me ;
One sweet word of comfort give ;
Lift up thy fair eyes,
Listen to my cries ;
Think in what great grief I live.
All in vain she sued ;
All in vain she wooed ;
The prince's life was fled and gone :
There stood she still mourning,
Till the sun's returning,
And bright day was coming on.
In this great distress.
Quoth this royal lady.
Who can now express
What will become of nic ?
To my father's coiirt
Never will I wander.
But some service seek,
OF GOOD-WILL. 57
Where I may placed be.
Whilst she thus made her moan,
Weepmg all alone,
In this deep and deadly fear,
A forester, all in green.
Most comely to be seen.
Ranging the wood did find her there.
Round beset with sorrow ;
Maid I quoth he, good morrow ;
What hard hap hath brought you here ?
Harder hap did never
Chance to a maiden ever ;
Here lies slain my brother dear :
Where might I be plac'd.
Gentle forester, tell me ?
Where might I procure
A service in my need ?
Pains I will not spare.
But Avill do my duty ;
Ease me of my care,
Help my extream need.
The forester all amazed,
On her beauty gazed,
'Till his heart Avas set on fire :
If, fair maid, quoth he,
You will go with me,
You shall have your heart's desire.
He brought her to his mother.
And above all other,
He set forth ihi.s maiden's praise;
Long was his heart inflamed,
At length her love he gamed,
So fortune did his glory raise.
Thus unknown, he matcht
With the king's fair daughter;
Children seven he had,
Ere she to him was known ;
But when he understood
She was a royal princess,
By this means, at last,
He shewed forth her fame.
He cloath'd his children then,
Not like other men.
In party colours strange to see ;
The right side cloth of gold.
The left side to behold.
Of woollen cloth still framed he.
Men thereat did wonder.
Golden fame did thunder
This strange deed in every place.
The king he coming thither,
Being pleasant weather.
In the Avoods the hart to chase ;
The children there did stand.
As their motlier willed.
Where the royal king
Must of force come by.
Their mother richly clad
In fair crimson velvet ;
Their father all in giav,
Ol. GOUD-WILL. 59
Most comely to the eye.
"\yhen this famous king,
Noting every thing,
Did ask him how he durst be so bold,
To let his wife to Avear,
And deck his children there.
In costly robes of pearl and gold ?
The forester bold replied.
And the cause descried,
And to the king he thus did say :
Well may they by their mother,
Wear rich gold like other,
Being by birth a princess gay.
The king upon these words,
More heedfully beheld them ;
Till a crimson blush
His conceit did cross.
The more I look, quoth he,
Upon thy wife and children,
The more I call to mind
My daughter whom I lost.
I am that child, quoth she.
Falling on her knee ;
Pardon me, my soveraign liege.
The king perceiving this.
His daughter dear did kiss.
Till joyful tears did stop his speech.
With his train he turned.
And with her sojourned ;
Straight he dubb'd her husband knight ;
60 THJi GAKLAND
He made him earl of Flanders,
One of his chief commanders ;
Thus was their soitow put to flight.
THE FAITHFUL FKIENDSHIP OF TWO FRIENDS,
ALPHONSO AND GANSELO.
To the Tune of " Flying Fame",
In stately Rome sometime did dwell
A man of noble fame.
Who had a son of seemly shape,
Alphonso was his name.
When he was gro^vm and come to age.
His father thought it best
To send his son to Athens fair.
Where wisdom's school did rest.
And when he was to Athens come,
Good lectures for to learn,
A place to board him with delight.
His friends did well discern.
A noble knight of Athens town,
Of him did take the charge ;
Wlio had a son, Ganselo call'd,
Just of his pitch and age;
or GOOD-WILl,. 61
In stature and in person both,
In favour, speech, and face,
In quality and conditions eke,
They 'greed in every place.
So like they were, in all respects,
The one unto the other.
They were not known, but by their names.
Of father or of mother.
And as in favour they were found
Alike in all respects,
Even so they did most dearly love,
As prov'd by good effects.
Ganselo lov'd a lady fair,
Which did in Athens dwell,
Who was in beauty peerless found,
So far she did excel.
Upon a time it chanced so,
As fancy did him move,
That he would visit, for delight,
His lady and his loA'e ;
And to his true and faithful friend,
He declared the same ;
Asking of him if he would see
That fair and comclv dame.
62 THE GARI.AXD
Alphonso did thereto agree ;
And with Ganselo went
To see the lady which he lov'd,
Which bred his discontent.
But when he cast his crj'stal eyes
Upon her angel's hue,
The beauty of that lady bright,
Did straight his heart subdue,
His gentle heart so wounded was,
With that fair lady's face.
That afterwards, he daily liv'd
In sad and woful case ;
And of his grief he knew not how
Therefore to make an end ;
For that he knew the lady's love.
Was yielded to his friend.
Then being sore perplext in mind,
Upon his bed he lay.
Like one which death and deep despair
Had almost worn away.
His friend Cansclo tliat did see
His grief and great distress,
At Icngtli requested for to know
His cause of heaviness.
UF (i<)OJ)-\Vl l.L. 63
With much ado, at length he tokl
The truth unto his friend ;
Who did relieve his inward woe,
With comfort to the end.
Take courage then, dear friend, quoth he,
Though she through love be mine,
My right I will resign to thee ;
The lady shall be thine.
You know our favours are alike.
Our speech also likewise ;
This day in mine apparel
You shall yourself disguise ;
And unto church then shall you go,
Directly in my stead ;
Lo ! though my friends suppose 'tis I,
You shall the lady wed.
Alphonso was so well appuid.
And as they had decreed.
He went that day and wedded plain
The lady there indeed.
But when the nuptial-feast was done,
And Phoebus quite was fled.
The lady for Ganselo took
Alphonso to her bed.
64 THE GARLAXD
That night was spent in pleasant sport,
And when the day was come,
A post for fair Alphonso came.
To fetch him home from Rome.
Then was the matter plainly proved,
Alphonso wedded was.
And not Ganselo, to that dame,
"Which brought great woe, alas !
Alphonso being gone to Rome,
With this his lady gay,
Ganselo' s friends and kindred all,
In such a rage did stay.
That they depriv'd him of his wealth.
His land and rich attire.
And banish' d him their country quite.
In rage and wrathful ire.
"With sad and pensive thoughts, alas !
Ganselo wandred then ;
"Who was constrain'd, thro' want, to beg
Relief of many men.
In this distress oft would he say,
To Rome I mean to go,
To seek Alphonso, my dear friend.
Who will relieve my woe.
OK GOOD-AVIM,. 65
To Rome, when poor Ganselo came,
And found Alphonso's place,
Which was so famous, huge, and fair.
Himself in such poor case.
He was asham'd to shew himself
In that his poor array ;
Saying, Alphonso knows me well,
If ho would come this way :
Therefore he staid within the street ;
Alphonso then came by,
But heeding not Ganselo poor,
His friend that stood so nigli ;
Which griev'd Ganselo to the heart.
Quoth he, and is it so ?
Doth proud Alphonso now disdain
His friend indeed to know ?
In desperate sort away he went,
Into a barn hard by.
And presently he drew his knife.
Thinking thereby to die.
And bitterly in sorrow there.
Did he lament and weep :
And being over- weigh' d with grief,
He there fell fast asleep.
66 THE GARLAND
While soundly there he sweetly slept,
Came in a murthering thief,
And saw a naked knife lie by
This man so full of grief.
The knife so bright he took iip strait,
And went aw^ay amain.
And thrust it in a murthered man,
Which he before had slain ;
And afterwards he went with speed,
And put this bloody knife
Into his hand that sleeping lay,
To save himself from strife.
Which done, away in haste he ran ;
And when that search was made,
Ganselo, with his bloody knife,
Was for the murther staid.
And brought before the magistrate
Who did confess most plain.
That he indeed, with that same knife,
The murther' d man had slain.
Alphonso sitting then as judge,
And knowing Ganselo' s face,
To save his friend, did say himself
Was guilty in that case.
OF ttOOD-WILI,. 67
None, quoth Alphonso, kill'd the man,
My lord, but only I ;
And, therefore, set this poor man free.
And let me justly die.
Thus while for death these faithful friends
In striving did proceed,
The man before the senate came.
That did the fact indeed.
"Who being moved with remorse.
Their friendly hearts to see.
Did say before the judges plain,
None did the fact but he.
Thus when the truth was plainly told,
Of all sides joy Avas seen ;
Alphonso did embrace his friend,
Which had so wofid been.
In rich array he cloathed him,
As fitted his degree.
And helpt him to his lands again,
And former dignity.
The murthcrer, for telling truth,
Had pardon at that time ;
Wlio afterwards lamented much.
His foul and grievous crime.
68 THE GARLAND
THE SECOND PART.
A PASTORAL SONG.
To the Tune of " Hey ho holidaij," d'c.
Upon a down, Avhere shepherds keep,
Piping pleasant lays,
Two country maids were keeping sheep.
And sweetly chanted roundelays.
Three shepherds, each an oaten reed,
Blaming Cupid's cruel Avrong,
Unto these rural nymphs agreed
To keep a tuneful under-song.
And so they were in number five,
Musick's number sweet,
And we the like let us contrive,
To sing their songs in order meet.
Fair Phillis's part I take to me.
She 'gainst loving hinds complains ;
And Amarillis thou shalt be.
She defends the shepherd swains.
OF G001)-WII.L. 69
Ph. Fie on the slights that men devise.
Sh. Hey ho! silly slights.
P. When simple maids they would entice.
8. Maidens are young men's chief delights.
A. Nay, women they with their eyes,
S. Eyes like beams of charming sun.
A. And men once caught, they soon despise.
S. So are shepherds oft undone.
P. If any young man win a maid.
S. Happy man is he.
P. By trusting him she is betray'd.
S. Fie upon such treachery !
A. If maids catch young men with their guiles.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! guiltless grief.
A. They deal like weeping crocodiles.
S. That murther man ■without relief.
P. I know a silly country hind.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! silly swain !
P. To whom fair Daphne proved kind.
S. Was he not kind to her again ?
P. He vow'd to Pan with many an oath.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! shepherds' god is he.
A. Yet since he hath chang'd, and broke his troth.
•.V. Troth-plight broke, will plagued be.
70 THK OAKLAND
A. She had deceived many a swain.
S. Fie upon false deceit !
A. And plighted troth to them in vain.
S. There can be no grief more great.
A. Her measure was with measure paid.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! equal need.
A. She was beguil'd that was betray'd.
S. So shall all deceivers speed.
P. If every maid were like to me.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! hard of heart.
P. Both love and lovers scorn'd should be.
S. Scorners should be sure of smart.
A. If every maid were of my mind.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! lovely sweet.
A. They to their lovers should prove kind.
S. Kindness is for maidens meet.
P. Methinks love is an idle toy.
S. Hey ho ! hey ho ! busie pain.
P. Both wit and sense it doth annoy.
aS'. Both wit and sense thereby we gain.
A. Tush! Philis, cease; be not so coy.
/'. Hey ho ! hey ho ! my disthiin.
A. I know you love a shepherd's boy.
S. Fie on tliat woman so can feiarn !
OF GOOD-AVILI.. 71
P. Well, Amarillis, now I yield.
S. Shepherds sweetly pipe aloud.
P. Love conquers both in town and field.
S. Like a tja-ant, fierce and proud.
A. The evening-star is up we see.
S. Vesper shines, we must away.
P. Would every lady would agree.
S. So we end our roundelay.
THE SINNERS REDEMPTION : THE NATIVITY OF
OUR LORD Sz SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST, WITH
HIS LIFE ON EARTH, AND PRECIOUS
DEATH ON THE CROSS.
All you that are to mu'th inclin'd,
Consider well, and bear in mind
What our good God for us hath done,
In sending his beloved son.
Let all our songs and praises be
Unto His heavenly majesty;
And evermore amongst our mirth,
Remember Christ our Saviour's birth.
72 THE GAKLANB
The five and twentieth of December,
Good cause we haA'e for to remember ;
In Bethlehem, upon this morn.
There was our blest Messias born.
The night before that happy tide.
The spotless Virgin and her guide
Were long time seeking up and down,
To find them lodging in the town.
And mark how all things came to pass ;
The inns and lodgings so fiU'd was.
That they could have no room at all,
But in a silly ox's stall.
This night the Virgin Mary mild,
Was safe deliver' d of a child ;
According unto heaven's decree,
Man's sweet salvation for to be.
Near Bethlehem did shepherds keep
Their herds and flocks of feeding sheep ;
To whom God's angel did appear,
Which put the shepherds in great fear.
Prepare, and go, the angel said,
To Bethlehem ! be not afraid ;
There shall you see this blessed morn,
The princely babe, sweet Jeeus, born.
OF GOOD-WILL. 73
With thankful hearts, and joyful mind,
The shepherds went this babe to find ;
And as the heavenly angel told,
They did our Saviour Christ behold.
Within a manger was he laid.
The Virgin Mary by him staid,
Attending on the Lord of life,
Being both mother, maid, and wife.
Three eastern wise men from afar,
Directed by a glorious star.
Came boldly on, and made no stay
Until they came where Jesus lay :
And being come unto the place
Wherein the blest Messias was,
They humbly laid before his feet,
Their gifts of gold and odours sweet.
See how the Lord of heaven and earth,
Shcw'd himself lowly in his birth ;
A sweet example for mankind
To learn to bear an humble mind.
No costly robes, nor rich attire,
Did Jesus Christ our Lord desire ;
No musick, nor sweet harmony,
Till glorious angels from on high.
74 THE GARLAND
Did in melodious manner sing
Praises unto our heavenly king ;
All honour, glory, might, and power,
Be unto Chi-ist our Sa^-iour.
If choirs of angels did rejoyce,
Well may mankind A\dth heart and voice
Sing praises to the God of heaven.
That unto us a son hath given.
Moreover, let us every one
Call imto mind, and think upon
His righteous life, and how he dy'd
To have poor sinners justified.
Suppose, O I man, that thou shouldst lie
In prison strong, conderan'd to die,
And that no friend upon the earth
Could ransom thee from cruel death,
Except you can some party find.
That for your sake will be so kind.
His own heart's blood for to dispense,
And lose his life in thy defence.
Such was the love of Christ, when we
Were lost in hell perpetually,
To save us from the gulph of woe,
Himself much pain did undergo.
OK GOOD-WILL. 75
Whilst in this world he did remain,
He never spent one hour in vain ;
In fasting, and in prayer divine,
He daily spent away the time ;
He in the temple daily taught.
And many wonders strange he wrought.
He gave the blind their perfect sight,
And made the lame to walk upright :
He cur'd the lepers of their evils.
And by his power he cast out devils.
He raised Lazarus from the grave,
And to the sick their health he gave.
But yet for all these wonders Avrought,
The Jews his dire destruction sought.
The traytor Judas was the man
That with a kiss betray'd him than.
Then was he led to Justice-hall,
Like one despis'd amongst them all;
And had the sentence given, that he
Should suffer death upon a tree.
Unto the execution-place
They brought him on with much disgrace ;
With vile reproachful taunts and scorns,
They crown'd him with a wreath of thorns.
76 THE GARLAND
Then to the cross, through hands and feet,
They nail'd oiu- blest Redeemer sweet;
And further to augment his smart.
With bloody spear they pierc'd his heart.
Thus have you seen and heard aright.
The love of Christ, the Lord of might ;
And how He shed his precious blood,
Only to do us sinners good.
■ A WONDERFUL PROPHESIE,DECL.\EED BY CHRIS-
TIAN JAMES, A MAID OF TWENTY YEARS OF
AGE, WHO WAS BORN NEAR PADSTOW,
IN THE COUNTY OF CORNWAL, &c.
To the Tune of " In Summer Time."
The mighty Lord that rules in heaven,
Strange wonders doth in England send ;
And many warnings hath us given,
'Cause we our lives should soon amend.
But like tlic misbelie'sdng Jews,
So hard of heart our people be.
They think that nothing can be true
But that which their own eyes do sec.
OF GOOJ)-WrLL. . 77
Therefore, good people, mark it Avell ;
I'll here lay open to your view
A song most wonderful and strange,
And can approve it to be true.
A damsel did near Padstow dwell,
Within the county of CornAval fair,
Whose parents had no child but her ;
She was her father's only heir :
To whom came many a brave young man,
Intending to make her a wife ;
But never tempting tongue could make
This damsel change her maiden life.
And though her parents riches had,
And costly garments her allow' d ;
In homely habit she would go,
And alway hated to be proud.
She ne'er was heard to curse or swear.
Nor any word of anger give ;
But courteous was in every thing
To them that did about her live.
If she heard any one to swear.
Or take God's sacred name in vain.
She told them that they crucified
Our Saviour Jesus Christ again.
78 THE GARLAND
She often did frequent the church,
And also did relieve the poor ;
The widow and the fatherless
She every day fed at her door.
Upon a time this damsel she
Fell sick, and in a deadly swound
She lay for twenty hours' space,
No life in her then could be found.
Her aged father did lament,
Her mother she shed many a tear ;
She wept, she wail'd, she ^vrung her hands,
For loss of this her daughter dear.
Alas ! alas ! my child, she said,
How dearly have I tendered thee,
And wilt thou now forsake the world
And leave me in this misery ?
I would thy birth had been my death,
Then never had I known this day.
This grievous moan her mother made
By her dear daughter as she lay.
At last she did strong waters fetch.
And rubb'd her temples and each vein,
Till at the last the damsel had
Recover'd life and sense again.
OF GOOD-AVILL. 79
And being come unto her speech,
With voice most shrill, aloud she cried,
O, mother, you have done me wrong.
This cannot be by you denied.
For I was in the way to heaven,
Two glorious angels did me guide,
Who gently took me by the hand,
And helped me up on every side ;
Singing of psalms and spiritual songs,
So long as we pass'd on the way ;
Till he which had a golden crown
Met us, and caused us to stay.
Return, said he, from whence thou cam'st.
Thy mother for thee makes great moan ;
And tell these things, which I declare,
Unto thy neighbours every one.
Speak this, quoth he, unto them all ;
How that the Lord, e'er long, Avill send
A grievous punishment to them
That wilfully his will offend.
This is the last age of the world,
Even to the very sink of sin.
The puddle of iniquity
Which you long time have wallowed in.
80 THE GARLAND
The men and A\dves live in discord ;
The father envies his own son ;
The rich, the poor, the old, the j'oung^.
Do hourly into mischief run.
Extortion and idolatry',
And hateful pride are now in use ;
Blasphemous oaths, and curses \'ile,
The people count as no abuse.
Good ministers are set at nought,
The Sabbath is profan'd also ;
The poor lie star"sdng in the street,
Opprest with sorrow, grief and woe.
The loathsome sin of drunkenness
And whoredom, doth too much exceed ;
He that can do his neighbour ■\\Tong,
Doth think he doth a goodly deed.
Now ponder well what I do say ;
Doom's dreadful day is nigh at hand ;
Fire and brimstone shall destroy
The heaven, the earth, the sea and land :
And every soul before the Lord
A just account he then shall give ;
His conscience shall a witness be,
In what condition he did live.
OF GOOD-WII.L. 81
Then he that hath done well shall pass
Forthwith to everlasting rest,
And live among those glorious saints
Which Jesus Christ our Lord hath blest.
Where martyrs, prophets, and patriarchs.
Do hallelujahs ever sing ;
Glory and honour be to God,
And unto Christ our heavenly king.
Then woe to them that have done ill,
When they shall hear the sentence past,
Depart ye cursed into hell.
Whose fire for evermore shall last.
The sorrows which are here foretold
Will come on you, e'er it be long;
Except repentance truly dwell
In hearts of all, both old and young.
Repentance, and true wat'ry eyes.
Will help to quench the burning flame,
Which he hath kindled to consume
This wicked world's most rotten frame.
Let not your building, all so brave.
Be burnt and wasted with God's ire ;
Nor let your souls, for whom Christ died.
Be burnt in hell's eternal fire.
Here cndrtli tJie Prnplicsir.
82 THK fiAKl.AKl)
These speeches spoke, the maiden died,
And came no more to life again ;
Her soul, no doubt, is gone to heaven,
With glorious angels to remain.
At her decease, an harmony
Of musick there was heard to sound,
Which ravish' d all the standers-by.
It did with sweetness so abound ;
It pierc'd the earth and air also,
Yet no man knew from whence it came ;
But each one said it came from heaven ;
And presently, upon the same,
The magistrates of that same parish.
Which heard and saw this wonder strange,
Desir'd to have it put in print,
'Cause wicked men their ways may change.
OF PATIENT GEISSEL AND A NOBLE MARQUESS.
To the Tune of " The Bride's Good-morrow"
A NOBLE marquess, as he did ride a-hunting.
Hard by a river side,
A proper maiden, as she did sil a-spinning,
His gentle eye espy'd :
0¥ (JOOD-WIM,. 83
Most fair and lovely, and of comely grace was she,
Although in simple attire ;
She sang most sweetly, with pleasant voice melodiously,
Which set the Lord's heart on fire.
The more he lookt, the more he might,
Beauty bred, his heart's delight ;
And to this damsel he went.
God speed, quoth he, thou famous flower.
Fair mistress of this homely bower.
Where love and vertue live with sweet content.
With comely gesture, and modest mild behaviour.
She bad him welcome then ;
She entertain' d him in a friendly manner,
And all his gentlemen.
The noble marquess in his heart felt such flame,
Which set his senses all at strife.
Quoth he, fair maiden, shew soon what is thy name ?
I mean to take thee to my wife.
Grissel is my name, quoth she.
Far unfit for your degree ;
A silly maiden, and of parents poor.
Nay, Grissel, thou art rich, he said,
A vertuous, fair, and comely maid ;
Grant me thy love, and I will ask no more.
At length she consented, and being both contented,
They married were with speed :
Her country russet was turn'd to silk and velvet,
As to her state agreed :
84 THE OAK LAN I)
And when that she was trimlj' atth-ed in the same,
Her beauty shin'd most bright;
Far staining every other brave and comely dame
That did appear in her sight.
Many envied her therefore,
Because she was of parents poor,
And 't-s^dxt her lord and her great strife did raise :
Some said this, and some said that;
Some did call her beggar's brat;
And to her lord they would her oft dispraise.
O, noble marquess, quoth they, why do you ^^Tong us,
Thus basely for to wed ;
That might have got an honourable lady
Into your princely bed ?
Who will not now your noble issue still deride.
Which shall be hereafter born.
That are of blood so base by the mother's side,
The which will bring them to scorn ?
Put her, therefore, quite away ;
Take to you a lady gay,
"WTiereby your lineage may renowned be.
Thus every day they seem'd to prate
At malic'd Grissel's good estate,
Who took all this most mild and patiently.
When that the marquess did see that they were bent thus
Against his faithful •wife.
Whom most dearly, tenderly, and intirely,
He loved as his life :
OK (i()()D-W I 1.1,. 85
Minding in secret for to prove lier patient heart,
Thereby her foes to disgrace ;
Thinking to play a hard discourteous part,
That men might pity her case.
Great with child this lady was,
And at length it came to pass,
Two lovely children at one birth she had ;
A son and daughter God had sent,
Which did their father well content,
And which did make their mother's heart full glad.
Great royal feasting was at the children's christ'ning.
And princely triumph made
Six weeks together, all nobles that came thither,
Were entertain' d and staid.
And when that these pleasant sportings quite were done,
The marquess a messenger sent
For his young daughter and his pretty smiling son ;
Declaring his full intent,
How that the babes must murthered be,
For so the marquess did decree.
Come, let me have the children, he said.
With that fair Grissel wept full sore.
She wrung her hands and said no more.
My gracious lord must have his will obey'd.
She took the babies from the nursing -ladies.
Between her tender arms ;
She often wishes, with many sorrowful kisses.
That she might help their harms.
86 XHK OAKLAND
Farewel, quoth she, my children dear,
Never shall I see you again ;
'Tis long of me, your sad and woful mother dear.
For whose sake you must be slain :
Had I been born of royal race,
You might have liv'd in happy case ;
But now you must die for my unworthiness.
Come, messenger of death, quoth she,
Take my despised babes to thee.
And to their father my complaints express.
He took the children, and to his noble master
He brought them forth with speed ;
Who secretly sent them unto a noble lady
To be nurst up indeed.
Then to fair Grisscl with a heavy heart he goes.
Where she sat mildly all alone,
A pleasant gesture and a lovely look she shows.
As if grief she had never known.
Quoth he, my children now are slain ;
What thinks fair Grissel of the same ?
Sweet Grissel, now declare thy mind to me.
Since you, my lord, are pleas' d with it,
Poor Grissel thinks the action fit ;
Both I and mine at your command will be.
The nobles murmur, fair Grissel, at thine honour,
And I no joy can have
'Till thou be banisht from my court and presence.
As they unjustly crave.
OF GOOD-WILL. 87
Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments ;
And as thou earnest to me,
In homely gray, instead of silk and purest pall,
Now all thy cloathing must be ;
My lady thou must be no more.
Nor I thy lord, which grieves me sore ;
The poorest life must now content thy mind :
A groat to thee I may not give,
Thee to maintain while I do live ;
'Gainst my Grissel such great foes I find.
When gentle Grissel heard these woful tidings,
The tears stood in her eyes ;
She nothing said ; no words of discontentment
Did from her lips arise :
Her velvet gown most patiently she stript off,
Her girdle of silk with the same :
Her russet gown was brought again with many a scofl';
To bear them all, herself did frame :
When she was drest in this array,
And ready was to part away,
God send long life unto my lord, quoth she ;
Let no oifence be found in this
To give my lord a parting kiss.
With wat'ry eyes, Farewel ! my dear, (pioth he.
From stately palace, unto her father's cottage.
Poor Grissel now is gone ;
Full fifteen winters she lived there contented,
No wrong she thounht upon ;
88 XHK GAKLAiSl)
And at that time thro' all the land the speeches went,
The marquess should married be
Unto a noble lady of high descent,
And to the same all parties did agree.
The marquess sent for Grissel fair.
The bride's bed-chamber to prepare,
That nothing should therein be foimd awry ;
The bride was with her brother come.
Which was great joy to all and some;
And Grissel took all this most patiently.
And in the morning when that they should be wedded,
Her patience now was try'd ;
Grissel was charged in princely manner
For to attire the bride.
Most willingly she gave consent unto the same ;
The bride in her bravery was drest,
And presently the noble marquess thither came,
With all the ladies at his request.
Oh ! Grissel, I would ask of thee
If to this match thou wouldst agree ?
Methinks thy looks are waxed wond'rous coy.
With that they all began to smile,
And Grissel she replies the while,
God send lord marquess many years of joy !
The marquis was moved to see his best beloved
Thus patient in distress ;
He stept unto her, and by the hand he took her,
These words he did express ;
OF GOOD-WILL. 89
Thou art the bride, and all the brides I mean to have;
These two thy o^vn children be.
The youthful lady on her knees did blessing crave,
The brother as willing as she :
And you that env)' her estate.
Whom I have made my loving mate.
Now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life ;
The chronicles of lasting fame.
Shall evermore extol the name
Of patient Grissel, my most constant wife.
A PLEASANT SONG BETWEEN PLAIN TKUTH,
AND BLIND IGNORANCE.
Truth. God speed you, ancient father.
And give you a good daye :
What is the cause, I praye you,
So sadly here you staye ?
And that you keep such gazing
On this decayed place,
The which, for superstition.
Good princes down did raze ?
Ign. Chill tell thee by my vazen.
That zometimes che have knowne ;
A vair and goodly abbey,
Stand here of bricke and stone :
90 XHE OAKLAND
And many a holy vrier,
As ich may say to thee,
Within these goodly cloysters,
Che did full often zee.
Truth. Then I must tell thee, father,
In truth and veritie,
A sorte of greater hypocrites,
Thou couldst not likely see :
Deceiving of the simple,
With false and feigned lies ;
But such an order, truly,
Christ never did devise.
lyn. Ah ! ah ! che zmell thee now, man ;
Che know well what thou art ;
A vellow of mean learning,
Che was not worth a vart :
Vor when wc had the old lawe,
A merry world was then,
And every thing was plenty
Among all zortcs of men.
Tntlh. Thou givcst me an answer,
As did the Jcavs sometimes
Unto the prophet Jeremye,
When he accus'd their crimes.
'Twas merry, said the people.
And jo) f'ul in our rea'mc,
Which did offer spice-cakes
Vnlo the fiuccn of hcav'n.
OF GOOD- WILL. 91
lijn. Chill tell tliec what, good vcllowe ;
Bevove the vicars went hence,
A bushel of the best wheate
Was zold for vourteen pence,
And vorty egges a penny,
That were both good and newe ;
And this zhe zay my zelf have zcene,
And yet ich am no Jewe.
Truth. Within the sacred bible,
We find it written plaine.
The latter days should troublesome
And dangerous be, certaine ;
That we should be self-lovers,
And charity wax colde ;
Then 'tis not true religion
That makes thee grief to holde.
hjn. Chill tell thee my opinion plaine.
And choul that well ye knewe ;
Ich care not for the bible bookc,
'Tis too big to be true :
Our blessed ladye's psalter,
Zhall for my money goe ;
Zuch pretty prayers as there bcc.
The bible cannot zhowc.
Truth. Now thou hast spoken trulye ;
For in that book, indcede.
No mention of our ladye,
Or Romish saint wc readc :
92 THE OAKLAND
For by the blessed Spirit
That book indited was,
And not by simple persons,
As is the foolish masse.
Ic/n. Cham zure they are not voolishe
That made the masse, che trowe ;
Why, man, 'tis all in Latine,
And vools no Latine knowe :
Were not our fathers wise meii,
And they did like it well ?
Who very much rejoyced
To hear the zeering bell ?
Truth. But many kings and prophets.
As I may say to thee,
Have wisht the light that you have.
And could it never see ;
For Avhat art thou the better,
A Latine song to hear.
And understandeth nothing
That they sing in the quiere ?
l(jn. O ! hold thy peace, che pray thee,
The noise was passing trim.
To hear the vricrs zinging.
As we did enter in :
And then to zee tlie rood-loft
Zo bravely zet with zaints,
And now to zee them wand'ring,
My heart witli zorrow vaints.
OF (iOOD-AVILI,. 93
Truth. The Lord did give commandment,
No image thou shoiildst make,
Nor that unto idolatry
You should yourself betake :
The golden calf of Israel
Moses did therefore spoile,
And Baal's priests and temple
He brought to utter foile.
Ign. But our ladye of Walsinghame
Was a pure and holy zaint.
And many men in pilgrimage,
Did zhew to her complaint :
Yea, with zweet Thomas Becket,
And many other moe,
The holy maid of Kent, likewise,
Did many wonders zhowe.
Truth. Such saints are well agreeing
To your profession sure ;
And to the men that made them
So precious and so pure :
The one was found a traytoure.
And judg'd worthy of death ;
The other eke for treason
Did end his hateful breath.
Ign. Yea, yea, it is no matter,
Dispraise them as you wille ;
But zure they did much goodnesse,
Would thov were with us stillc I
94 THK GART.AX])
We had our holy water,
And holj' bread likewise ;
And many holy reliques
We zaw before our eyes.
Truth. And all this while they fed you
With vain and sundry shows,
Which never Christ commanded,
As learned doctor knows ;
Search then the holy scriptures,
And thou shalt plainly see,
That headlong to damnation
They alway trained thee.
Ifpi. If it be true, good vellowe.
As thou dost zay to mee.
Then to my zaviour Jesus,
Alone then will Ich flee ;
Believing in the gospel.
And passion of his Zon,
And with the zubtil papistes
Ich have for ever done.
OF 0()()r)-WIT.I,. dT}
THE OVERTHROW OF RROUD HOLOFORNES, AND
THE TRIUMRH OF VERTUOUS QUEEN JUDETH.
When king Nebuchadnezzar
Was puffed up with pride,
He sent forth many men of war,
By Holofornes guide,
To plague and spoil the world thioughoul,
By fierce Bellona's rod.
That would not fear and honour him,
And acknowledge him their god.
Which when the holy Israelites
Did truly imderstand,
For to prevent this tyranny
They fortified their land ;
Their towns and stately cities strong
They did with victuals store ;
Their warlike weapons they prepar'd.
Their furious foe to gore.
When stately Holofornes then
Had knowledge of that thing.
That they had thus prepar'd themselves
For to withstand the king.
96 THE GARLAND
Quorh he, what god is able now
To keep these men from me ?
Is there a greater than our king,
Whom all men fear to see ?
Come, march with me, therefore, he said.
My captains every one,
And first unto Bethulia
With speed let us be gone ;
I will destroy each mother's son
That is within the land ;
Their God shall not deliver them
Out of my furious hand.
Wherefore about Bethulia,
That little city then.
On foot he planted up and down,
An hundred thousand men ;
Twelve thousand more, on horses brave,
About the town had he ;
He stopt their springs and water-pipes
To work their misery.
When four and thirty days they had
With wars besieged been.
The poor Bethulians at that time.
So thirsty then were seen.
That they were like to starve and dye,
Tlicy were both weak and faint ;
The people 'gainst the r\ilers cry,
And this was ♦heir complaint :
OF GOOD-WII.Ti. 97
Better it is for us, quoth they,
To yield unto our foe,
Than by this great and grievous thirst,
To be destroyed so :
O ! render up the town, therefore.
We are forsaken quite ;
There is no means to escape their hands,
"Who might escape their might ?
Whenas their grieved rulers heard
The clamours which they made.
Good people, be content, said they.
And be no whit dismay' d ;
Yet five days stay in hope of health,
God will reward your woe ;
But if by then no succour come.
We'll yield unto our foe.
When Judeth, prudent, princely dame,
Had tydings of this thing.
Which was Manesses' beauteous wife,
That sometime was their king,
Why tempt ye God so sore, she said,
Before all men this day.
Whom mortal men in conscience ought
To fear and eke obey ?
If you will grant me leave, quoth she.
To pass abroad this night.
To Holofornes I will go,
For all his furious might ; H
98 THE GARLAND
But what I do intend to do,
Enquire not now of me.
Go then in peace, fair dame, they said,
And God be still with thee.
When she from them was gotten home,
"Within her palace-gate.
She called to her chiefest maid,
That on her then did wait ;
Bring me my best attire, quoth she,
And jewels of fine gold ;
And wash me with the finest balms
That are for silver sold.
The fairest, and the richest robe
That then she did possess,
Upon her dainty corpse she put ;
And eke her hair did dress
With costly pearls, and precious stones,
And earrings of fine gold ;
That like an angel she did seem,
Most sweet for to behold.
A pot of sweet and pleasant oil
She took with her that time,
A bag of figs, and fine wheat-flower,
A bottle of fine wine.
Because she would not eat with them
That worship gods of stone :
And from her city thus she went.
With one poor maid alone.
OF GOOD-WILL. 99
Much ground, alas ! she had not gone,
Out of her own city,
But that the centinels espy'd
A woman wond'rous pritty ;
From whence came yoii, fair maid ? quoth they,
And where walk you so late ?
From yonder town, good sirs, quoth she,
To your lord of high estate.
When they did mark and view her well.
And saw her fair beauty,
And therewithal her rich array.
So gorgeous to the eye.
They were amazed in their minds,
So fair a dame to see !
They set her in a chariot then,
In place of high degree.
An hundred proper chosen men.
They did appoint likewise.
To wait on princely Judeth there,
"Whose beauty clear'd their eyes:
And all the soldiers running came
To view her as she went ;
And thus with her they past along,
Unto the general's tent.
Then came his stately guard in haste,
Fair Judeth for to meet.
And to their high, renowned lord,
They brought this lady sweet : H 2
100 THE GARLAND
A-iid then before his honour there,
Upon her knee she fell ;
Her beauty bright made him to muse,
So far she did excell.
Rise up, renowned dame, quoth he,
The glory of thy kind.
And be no whit amaz'd at all,
To shew to me thy mind !
When she had utter' d her intent,
Her wit amaz'd them all;
And Holofornes therewith he
By love was brought to thrall.
And bearing in his lofty breast
The flames of hot desire.
He granted every thing to her
She did of him require ;
Each night, therefore, he gave her leave
To walk abroad to pray,
According to her own request,
Which slie had made that day.
When she in camji had three days been,
Near Holofornes' tent.
His chicfcst friend, lord treasurer,
Unto her then he sent ;
Fair dame, quoth he, my lord commands
This night your company ;
Quoth she, I will not my dear lord
In any thing deny.
0¥ GOOD-WILL. 101
A very great and sumptuous feast
Did Holofornes make
Amongst the [warlike] lords and knights,
And all for Judeth's sake ;
But of their dainties, in no case
Would pleasant Judeth taste,
Yet Holofornes merry was.
So near him she was plac'd.
And being very pleasantly
Disposed at that time.
He drunk with them abundantly
Of strong delicious wine ;
So that his strength and memory,
So far from him were fled,
They laid him down, and Judeth then
Was brought unto his bed.
When all the doors about were shut.
And every one was gone,
Hard by the pillow of his bed,
His sword she 'spy'd anon ;
Then down she took it presently ;
To God for strength she pray'd;
She cut his head from shoulders quite,
And gave it to her maid.
The rich and golden canopy
That hung over his bed,
She took the same with her likewise.
With Holofornes' head ;
102 THE GAKLANB
And thus through all the court of guards,
She escaped clean away ;
None did her stay, thinkmg that she
Had gone forth for to pray.
When she had pass'd, escaped quite
The danger of them all,
And that she was come near unto
The besieged city's wall,
Come open me the gates, quoth she,
Our foe the Lord hath slain ;
See here his head within my hand,
That bore so great a fame.
Upon a pole they pitcht his head,
That all men might it 'spy.
And o'er the city wall forthwith.
They set it presently ;
Then all the soldiers in the town
March' d forth in rich array;
But soon their foes 'spy'd their approach,
For 'twas at break of day.
Then running hastily to call
Their general out of bed,
They found his lifeless body there,
But clean without his head ;
When this was known, all in amaze.
They fled away each man ;
They left their lents full rich behind.
And so away llicv ran.
OF GOOD-WIJ.L. 103
Lo ! here behold how God provides
For them that m him trust ;
When earthly hopes are all in vain,
He takes us from the dust !
How often hath our Judeth sav'd,
And kept us from decay
'Gainst Holofornes and the pope,
As may be seen this day ?
A PRINCELY DITTY, IN TKAISE OF THE
Trauslatetl out of the Fieiicli.
Amongst the princely paragons,
Bedeckt with dainty diamonds,
Within mine eye, none doth come nigh
The sweet red Rose of England.
The lilies pass in bravery.
In Flanders, Spain, and Italy,
But yet the famous flower of France
Doth honour the Rose of England.
As I abroad was walking,
I heard the small birds talking ;
And every one did frame her song
In praise of the Rose of England,
The lilies, &c.
104 THE OAKLAND
Caesar may vaunt of victories,
And Croesus of his happiness ;
But he Avere blest, that may bear in his breast
The sweet red Rose of England.
The lilies, &c.
The bravest lute bring hither,
And let us sing together,
Whilst I do ring, on every string,
The praise of the Rose of England.
The lilies, &c.
The sweetest perfumes and spices
The wise men brought to Jesus,
Did never smell a quarter so well
As doth the Rose of England.
The lilies, &c.
Then fair and princely flower,
That over my heart doth tower,
None may be compared to thee,
Which art the fair Rose of England.
The lilies, &c.
OF GOOD- WILL. 105
*** A COMMUNICATION BETWEEN FANCY AND
Come hither, shepherd's swain.
Sir, what do you require ?
I pray thee shew thy name r
My name is Fond Desire.
When wast thou born, Desire ?
In pomp and pride of May.
By whom, sweet child, wast thou begot ?
Of fond Conceit, men say.
Tell me who was thy nurse ?
Sweet Youth, and sug'red joys.
What was thy meat and dainty food ?
Sad sighs and great annoys.
What hadst thou for to drink ?
Unsavoury lovers tears.
What cradle wast thou rocked in ?
In love, devoid of fears.
What lull'd thee then asleep r
Sweet speech, which likes me best.
Tell me where is thy dwelling-place ?
In gentle hearts I rest.
106 THE GAB,I.A>fD
"What thing doth jjlease thee most r
To gaze on beauty still.
Whom dost thou think to be thy foe ?
Disdain of my good-will.
Doth company displease :
Yea, sure, many one.
Where doth Desii'e delight to live r
He loves to live alone.
Doth either time or age
Bring him unto decay :
Xo, no ; Desire both lives and dies
Ten thousand times a day.
Then, fond Desire, farewel !
Thou art no meat for me ;
I should be lothe to dwell
With such a one as thee.
TUK K.NLl UF THE SKCU.M) PAKT.
OF GOOD-WILX. 107
THE THIRD PART.
A MAIDEN'S CHOICE 'TWIXT AGE AM) YOUTH.
Crabbed age and youth
Cannot live together ;
Youth is full of pleasure,
Age is full of care ;
Youth 's like summer's morn,
Age like winter's weather ;
Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short.
Youth is wild, and age is lame ;
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold ;
Youth is wild, and age is tame ;
Age, I do abhor thee !
Youth, I do adore thee !
O ! my \o\e, my lord is yoimg ;
Age, I do defie thee !
O ! sweet shepherd, hye thee,
For mclhinks thouslav'st too long.
108 THE GARI.AXD
Here I do attend,
Ami'd by love and pleasure,
With my youthful friend
Joyful for to meet :
Here I do await
For my only treasure ;
Venus' sugar' d habit,
Fancy's dainty sweet.
Like a loving wife.
So I lead my life,
Thirsting for my heart's desire ;
Come, sweet youth, I pray.
Away, old man, away.
Thou canst not give what I require ;
For old Age I care not ;
Come, my love, and spare not ;
Age is feeble. Youth is strong ;
Age, I do defie thee !
O ! sweet shepherd, hye thee ;
For methinks thou stay'st too long.
Phoebus, stay thy steeds,
Ovcr-swiftly running ;
Drive not on so fast
Bright resplendent sun ;
For fair Daphne's sake.
Now express thy cunning j
Pity on me take
Else I am undone ;
OF GOOD- AVI LT,. 109
Your hours swift of flight,
That wake with Titau's sight,
And so consume the chearful day ;
! stay a while wdth me,
Till I my love may see ;
O ! Youth, thou dost so long delay :
Time will over-slip us,
And in pleasure trip us ;
Come away, therefore, with speed ;
1 would not lose an hour
For fair London's tower;
Venus, therefore, help my need :
Flora's banks are spread
In their rich attire,
With their dainty violet,
And the primrose sweet
Daisies white and red,
Fitting Youth's desire.
Whereby the daffidilly
And the cowslip meet.
All for Youth's behove,
Their fresh colours move
In the meadows green and gay ;
The birds, with sweeter notes,
So strain their pretty throats
To entertain my love this way;
I wish twenty wishes.
And an luuidrcd kisses,
110 THE GARLAND
Would receive him by the hand ;
If he give not me a fall,
I would him coward call,
And all unto my word would stand.
Lo ! here he appears.
Like to young Adonis,
Ready to set on fire
The chastest heart alive ;
Jewel of my life.
Welcome where thine own is ;
Pleasant are thy looks,
Sorrows to deprive ;
Embracing thy darling dear,
Without all doubtful fear.
On thy command I wholly rest ;
Do Avhat thou wilt to me,
Therein I agree.
And be not strange to my request ;
To Youth I only yield ;
Age fits not Venus' field.
Though I be conquer' d, what care I ?
In such a pleasant war.
Come meet me if you dare !
Who first mislikes, let them cr^■.
OF nOOD-WILL. Ill
AS I CAME FROM WALSINGHAM.
As you came from the holy-land
Met you not with my trvie love
By the way as you came ?
How should I knoAV your true love,
That have met many a one
As I came from the holy-land,
That have come, that have gone ?
She is neither white nor bro\vn,
But as the heavens fair ;
There is none hath a form so divine,
On the earth, in the air.
Such a one did I meet, (good sir)
With angel like face ;
Vfho like a queen did appear
In her gait, in her grace.
She hath left me here all alone,
All alone and unknown.
Who sometime lov'd me as her life,
And call'd me her own.
What's the cause she hath left thee alone,
And a new way doth take.
112 THE GARLAND
That sometime did love tliee as her life,
And her joy did thee make ?
I loved her all my youth,
But now am old, as you see ;
Love liketh not the fallen fruit.
Nor the withered tree :
For love is a careless child,
And forgets promise past ;
He is blind, he is deaf, when he list,
And in faith never fast.
For love is a great delight,
And yet a trustless joy ;
He is won with a word of despair.
And is lost with a toy.
Such is the love of womankind,
Or the word (love) abus'd,
Under which many childish desires
And conceits are excus'd.
But love is a durable fire,
In the mind ever burning ;
Never sick, never dead, never cold,
From itself never turning.
OF GO(Jl)-\\II,I.. llo
AN EXCELLENT SONG ON THE ^VINNTNG 01'
CALES BY THE ENGLISH.
Long had the proud Spaniards
Advanced to conquer us,
Threatening our country
With fire and sword ;
Their navy most sumptuous,
With all the provision
That Spain could afford.
Dub a-dub, dub,
Thus strike the drums,
The English man comes.
To the seas presently
Went our lord admiral,
With knights couragious.
And captains full good ;
The earl of Essex,
A prosperous general.
With him prepareel
To pass the salt flood.
Dub a-dub, &c.
At Plymouth speedily.
Took they ships valiantly ;
114 THE GARLAND
Braver ships never
Were seen under sail ;
With their fair colours spread,
And streamers o'er their head ;
Now, bragging Spaniards,
Take heed of your tail.
Dub a-dub, &c.
Unto Cales cunningly,
Came we most happily.
Where the kings navy
Did secretly ride ;
Being upon their backs,
Piercing their buts of sack,
Ere that the Spaniards
Our coming descry'd.
The English man comes ;
Bounce a-bounce, bounce a-bounce,
Off went the guns.
Great was the crying.
Running and riding.
Which at that season
Was made at that place ;
Then beacons were fired,
As need was required;
To hide their great treasure,
They had little space :
Alas ! they cryed,
English men comes.
OF GOOD-AVIT.r. llo
There you might see the ships,
How they were fired fast,
And how the men drown' d
Themselves in the sea ;
There you may hear them cry,
Wail and weep piteously ;
When as they saw no shift
To escape thence away.
Dub a-diib, &c.
The great Saint Philip,
The pride of the Spaniards,
Was burnt to the bottom,
And sunk in the sea ;
But the Saint Andrew,
And eke the Saint Matthew,
We took in fight manfully,
And brought them away.
Dub a-dub, &c.
The earl of Essex,
Most valiant and hardy.
With horsemen and footmen
March' d towards the town ;
The enemies which saw them,
Full greatly affrighted,
Did fly for their safeguard.
And durst not come down.
Dub a-dub, &c.
116 THE OAKLAND
Now, quoth the noble earl,
Courage, my soldiers all !
Fight, and be valiant.
And spoil you shall have ;
And well rewarded all,
From the great to the small
But look that the women
And children you save.
Dub a -dub, &c.
The Spaniards at that sight,
Saw 'twas in vain to fight,
Himg up their flags of truce,
Yielding the town ;
We march' d in presently,
Decking the -walls on high
With our English colours,
Which purchas'd renown.
Dub a-dub, &c.
Ent'ring the houses then
And of the richest men,
For gold and treasure
We searched each day ;
In some places we did find
Pye baking in the oven,
Meat at the fire roasting,
And men run away.
Dub a-dub, &c.
OF GOUD-AVIJ,L. 117
Full of rich merchandize,
Every shop we did see,
Damask and sattins
And velvet full fair ;
Which soldiers measure out
By the length of their swords ;
Of all commodities,
Each one hath share.
Uub a-dub, &c.
Thus Cales was taken,
And our brave general
March'd to the market-place,
There he did stand ;
There many prisoners
Of good account were took ;
Many crav'd mercy,
And mercy they found.
Dub a-dub, &c.
When as our general
Saw they delayed time,
And would not ransom
The town as they said,
With their fair wainscots,
Their presses and bedsteads.
Their joint-stools and tables,
A fire we made ;
And when the town burnt in a thmic.
With tan-ta-ra, tan-ta-ra-rara.
From thence we came.
118 THE GARLAXP
OF KING EDWARD THE THIRD, AND THE FAIR
COUNTESS OF SALISBURY.
Setting forth her constancy and endless glory.
When as Edward the third did live,
That valiant king,
Da^dd of Scotland to rebel
Did then begin ;
The town of Barwick suddenly
From us he won,
And burnt Newcastle to the ground ;
Thus strife begun :
To Roxbury castle marcht he then,
And by the force of warlike men,
Besieg'd therein a gallant fair lady,
While that her husband was in France,
His country's honour to ad^'ance,
The noble and famous earl of Salisbury.
Brave Sir William Montague
Rode then in haste,
Who declared unto the king
The Scottish men's boast ;
Who, like a lyon in his rage.
Did straightway prepare
For to deliver that fair lady
From woful care ;
OF GOOD- WILL. 119
But when the Scottish men did hear her sa),
Edward our king was come that day,
Theyrais'd their siege, and ran away with spec
So when that he did thither come,
With warlike trumpet, fife and drum.
None but a gallant lady did he meet indeed.
Whom when he did with greedy eyes
Behold and see,
Her peerless beauty it inthrall'd
His majesty ;
And ever the longer that he lookt,
The more he might ;
For in her only beauty was
His heart's delight :
And humbly then upon her knee,
She thank'd his royal majesty
That he had driven danger from her gate.
Lady, quoth he, stand up in peace !
Although my war doth now increase.
Lord keep, quoth she, all hurt from yotu' estate.
Now is the king full sad in soid,
And wots not why ;
And for the love of the fair countess
Of Salisbury ;
She little knowing this cause of his grief,
Did come to see
Wherefore his highness sate alone
So heavilv ;
120 THE GAUL AND
I have been wrong' d, fair dame, quoth he,
Since I came hither unto thee.
No, God forbid ! my sovereign, said she ;
If I were worthy for to know
The cause and ground of this your woe,
You should be helpt, if it did lie in me.
Swear to perform thy word to me,
Thovi lady gay,
To thee the sorrows of my heart
I will bewray.
I swear by all the saints in heaven
I will (quoth she) ;
And let my lord have no mistrust
At all in me.
Then take thyself aside, he said ;
For why, thy beauty hath betray' d ;
Wounding a king with thy bright shining eye
If thou do then some mercy show.
Thou shalt expel a princely woe ;
So shall I live, or else in sorrow die.
You have your wish, my soveraign lord,
Take all the leave that 1 can give
But on thy beauty all my joys
Have their abode.
Take thou my beauty from my face.
My gracious lord.
OF GOOD-WILL. 121
Didst thou not swear to grant my will ?
That I may, I will fulfil.
All then for my love, let my true love be seen.
My lord, your speech I might reprove ;
You cannot give to me your love,
For that belongs unto your queen.
Jjut I sup2)ose your grace did this
Only to try
Whether a wanton tale might tempt
Dame Salisbury ;
Not from yourself, therefore, my liege.
My steps do stray.
But from your wanton tempting talc,
I go my way.
O ! turn again, my lady bright ;
Clonic unto me my heart's delight !
Gone is the comfort of my pensive heart :
Here comes the earl of Warwick ; he,
The father of this fair lady,
My mind to him I mean for to impart.
Why is my lord and sovereign king
So griev'd in mind ?
Because that I have lost the tiling
I cannot find.
What thing is that, my gracious lord.
Which you have lost ?
It is my heart, which is near dead
Betwixt fire and frost.
122 THE GARLAND
Curst be that fire and frost also,
That caused this your Highness woe.
! Warwick, thou dost wrong me very sore ;
It is thy daughter, noble earl.
That heaven-bright lamp, that pearless pearl,
Wliich kills my heart, yet do I her adore.
If that be all, my gracious king,
That works your grief,
I Avill persuade the scornful dame
To yield relief;
Never shall she my daughter be
If she refuse ;
The love and favour of a king
May her excuse.
Thus wise Warwick went away,
And quite contrary he did say
When as he did the beauteous countess meet.
Well met, my daughter, then quoth he,
A message I must do to thee ;
Our royal king most kindly doth thee greet ;
The king will die 'less thou to him
Do grant thy love.
To love the king, my husband's love
1 would remove.
It is right charity to love.
My daughter dear,
But no true love so charitable
For to ajjpcar ;
OF GOOD-WILL. 123
His greatness may bear out the shame,
But his kingdom cannot buy out the blame ;
He craves thy love, that may bereave thy life ;
It is my duty to move this,
But not thy honesty to yield, I wis.
I mean to die a true unspotted Avife !
NoAV hast thou spoken, my daughter dear,
As I would have ;
Chastity bears a golden name
Unto the grave ;
And when unto thy wedded lord
Thou provest untrue.
Then let my bitter curses still
Thy soul pursue :
Then with a smiling chear go thou,
As right and reason doth allow ;
Yet shew the king thou bear'st no strumpet's mind.
I go, dear father, in a trice,
And by a sleight of fine device,
I'll cause the king confess I'm not unkind.
Here comes the lady of my life,
The king did say.
My father bids mc, sovereign lord.
Your will obey ;
And I consent, if you will grant
One boon to me.
I grant it thee, my lady fair,
Whatc'cr it be.
124 THE GARLA>-D
My husband is alive you know;
First let me kill him e'er I go,
And I at your command will ever be.
Thy husband now in France doth rest.
No, no ; he lies within my breast,
And being so nigh, he mil my falsehood see.
With that she started from the king,
And took her knife,
And desperately she thought to rid
Herself of life :
The king he started from the chair,
Her hand to stay :
O ! noble king, you have broke your word
With me this day.
Thou shalt not do this deed, quoth he.
Then never will I lie with thee.
No ! then live still, and let me bear the blame ;
Live in honour and high estate
With thy true lord and wedded mate ;
I never will attempt this suit again !
or GooD-wii.i,. 125
THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE TO AN
Will you hear a Spanish lady,
How she woo'd an English man r
Garments gay, as rich as may be,
Deck'd Avith jewels had she on;
Of a comely countenance and grace was she ;
And by birth and parentage of high degree.
As his prisoner there he kept her,
In his hands her life did lie ;
Cupid's bands did tie her faster,
By the liking of her eye ;
In his courteous company was all her joy;
To favour him in any thing she was not coy.
At the last there came commandment
For to set the ladies free ;
With their jewels still adorned.
None to do them injury :
Alas! then said this lady gay, full woe is me
O ! let me still sustain this kind captivity.
O ! gallant captain, shew some pity
To a lady in distress ;
Leave me not within the city
For to die in heaviness ;
126 THE GAKLAND
Thou hast set this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison strong remains with thee.
How should' st thou, fair lady, love me,
Whom thou know'st thy country's foe ?
Thy fair words make me suspect thee ;
Serpents are where flowers grow.
All the evil I think to thee, most gracious knight,
God grant unto myself the same may fully light.
Blessed be the time and season
That you came on Spanish ground :
If you may our foes be termed,
Gentle foes we have you found :
With our cities, you have won our hearts each one ;
Then to your country, bear away that is yoiir 0"\vn.
Rest you still, most gallant lady.
Rest you still, and Aveep no more ;
Of fair lovers there are plenty ;
Spain doth yield a wondrous store.
Spaniards fraught with jealousie we often find ;
But English men throughout the world are counted
Leave me not unto a Spaniard,
You alone enjoy my heart ;
I am lovely, young, and tender.
And so love is my desert ;
Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest ;
The wife of every English man is counted blest.
OF GOOD-AVILL. 127
It would be a shame, fair lady,
For to bear a woman hence ;
English soldiers never carry
- Any such without offence.
I will quickly change myself, if it be so.
And like a page I'll follow thee where'er thou go.
I have neither gold nor silver
To maintain thee in this case ;
And to travel, 'tis great charges.
As you know, in every place.
My chains and jewels every one shall be thine own;
And eke ten thousand pounds in gold, that lies
On the seas are many dangers,
Many storms do there arise,
^Vhich will be to ladies dreadful.
And force tears from wat'ry eyes.
Well, in worth, I could endure extremity ;
For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.
Courteous lady, be contented ;
Here comes all that breeds the strife ;
I, in England, have already
A sweet woman to my wife :
I will not falsifie my vow for gold or gain,
Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain.
Oh I how happy is that woman
That enjoys so true a friend ;
128 THE GARLAND
Many days of joy God send you !
Of my siiit I'll make an end :
Upon my knees I pardon crave for this offence,
Which love and true affection did first commence.
Commend me to thy loving lady ;
Bear to her this chain of gold,
And these bracelets for a token ;
Grieving that I was so bold :
All my jewels, in like sort, bear thou with thee ;
For these are fitting for thy wife, and not for me :
I will spend my days in prayer,
Love and all her laws defie ;
In a nunnery will I shrovid me.
Far from other company ;
But ere my prayers have end, be sure of this,
For thee and for thy love I will not miss.
Thus farewel ! most gentle captain.
And farewel my heart's content;
Count not Spanish ladies wanton.
Though to thee my love was bent.
Joy and true prosperity go still with thee ;
The like fall ever to thy share, most fair lady.
OF GOOD- WILL. 129
A FAREWEL TO LOVE.
Farewel, false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe, an enemy to rest ;
An envious boy, from whence great cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possest ;
A way for error, a tempest full of treason,
In all respect contrary unto reason.
A poison' d serpent cover' d all with flowers ;
Mother of sighs, and murtherer of repose ;
A sea of sorrows, whence run all such showers
As moisture gives to every grief that grows ; .
A school of guile, a nest of deep deceit ;
A golden hook that holds a poison' d bait :
A fortress fled, which reason did defend ;
A syren's song, a servage of the mind ;
A maze wherein afflictions find no end ;
A raging cloud that runs before the wind ;
A substance like the shadow of the sun ;
A goal of grief for which the wisest run :
A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear ;
A path that leads to peril and mishap ;
A true retreat of sorrow and despair ;
An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap ;
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems;
A hope of (hat which reason doubtful deems.
130 THK GARLAND
Then since thy reign my younger years betray'd,
And for my faith ingratitude I find,
And such repentance hath the wrong bewray' d,
AVhose crooked course hath not been over kind,
False love go back, and beauty frail, adieu,
Dead is the root from which such fancies grew.
THE lovp:r by his gifts thinking to conquer
The lover by his gifts thinks to conquer chastity ;
And with his gifts sends these verses to his lady.
What face so fair that is not carkt with gold ?
AVhat wit so worthy has not in gold its wonder ?
What learning but with golden lines doth hold ?
What state so high, but gold could bring it under ?
What thought so sweet but gold doth better season ?
And what rule better than the golden reason ?
The ground is fat that yields the golden fruit,
The study high that sets the golden state ;
The labour sweet that gets the golden suit.
The reckoning rich that scorns the golden rate ;
The love is sure that golden hope doth hold,
And rich again that serves the u-od of "old.
OF GOO])-\VILL. 131
THE WOMAN'S ANSWER.
Foul is the face -whose beauty gold can grace,
"Worthless the wit that hath gold in her wonder ;
Unlearned lines put gold in honour's place,
Wicked the state that •will to coin come under ;
Bad the conceit that season' d is with gold.
And begrsar's rule that such a reason hold.
Earth gives the gold, but heaven gives greater grace ;
Men study wealth, but angels wisdom praise :
Labour seeks peace, love hath an higher place,
Death makes the reck'ning, life is all my race ;
Thy hope is here ; my hope of heaven doth hold ;
God give me grace, let Dives die with gold.
Editions of the Garland of Good-Will. Dr. Rimbault
has ftivoured the editor with the following account of post-
humous editions of the Garland : the information was
received too late for the Preface.
An edition dated 1631. This is in black letter, and is in
the Bodleian Library. [Said to he printed by Eliz. Allde.]
Edition dated 1659. Black letter. Printed for J. Wright.
A copy, supposed to be unique, is in the possession of J. A.
Repton, Esq., of Springfield House, Chelmsford.
Edition dated 1678. Black letter. [This is fully de-
scribed in our preface ; and being by the .same publisher as
the one of 1659, it is probably a reprint. The design on
the title-page is also found in the title-page of Deloney's
Thomas of Reading . 1632.]
Edition of 1685. Printed by J. Millett. A copy was
sold at Heber's sale, and afterwards appeared in Thorpe's
Catalogue, 1836. No other copy is known, nor can it be
ascertained who is the present possessor.
Edition of 1688. A copy is believed to be in the Pepysian
Library. [This edition is probably one of Wright's.]
Edition of 1696. No information can be obtained re-
specting it. [Is it not identical with the next-named edi-
Edition of 1709. Printed for G. Conyers. [This is de-
scribed in our preface. It is without date, and the Editor
of the present edition agrees with Dr. Rimbault in believing
it to be of no earlier date than 1709 ; but as 1696 has been
assigned as its real date, may it not be the same as that
described as of 1696, supra?] No particulars can be ob-
tained of any editions published in the author's lifetime,
nor of any editions printed subsequently to that of Conyers.
Page 10,1. 1. The floiver-de-letice in Cheapside. The house
of Jane Shore was in Ludgate, in or near Flower-de-luce
court, which no longer exists, its site being now occupied
by the London Coffee House. She was, according to a letter
of Richard III, which is preserved in the Harleian MSS.
the wife of William Shore, a goldsmith : the Fleur-de-lis,
to speak heraldically, was always represented as Argent or
Or, and was, therefore, a fitting sign to designate the
calling of her husband.
Page 12. A song of king Edgar. Mason's lyric drama
of Elfrida is founded on this ballad, as are also two very
heavy dramatic affairs by Aaron Hill. It would appear from
the following extract that Deloncy's ballad is founded on a
passage in William of Malmsbury's Chronicle.
" There was," says the historian, " in his [Edgar's] time,
one Athelwold, a nobleman of great celebrity, and one of
his confidants. The king had commissioned him to visit
Elfthrida, daughter of Ordgar, duke [chieftain] of Devon-
shire, (whose charms had so fascinated the eyes of some
persons, that they commended her to the king) and to offer
her marriage, if her beauty were really equal to report.
Hastening on his embassy, and finding every thing con-
sonant to general estimation, he concealed his mission from
her parents, and procured the damsel for himself. Returning
to the king, he told a tale which made for his own purpose,
that she was a girl nothing out of the connuon track of
beauty, and by no means worthy of such transcendant
dignity. When Edgar's heart was disengaged from this
affair, and employed on other amours, some tattlers
acquainted him how completely Athelwold had duped him
by his artifices. Paying him in his own coin, that is,
returning him deceit for deceit, he showed the earl a fair
countenance, and, as in a sportive manner, appointed a day
when he would visit his far-famed lady. Terrified almost
to death with this dreadful pleasantry, he hastened before
to his wife, entreating that she would administer to his
safety by attii'ing herself as un])ecomingly as possible ; then
first disclosing the intention of such a proceeding. But
what did not this woman dare ? She was hardy enough to
deceive the confidence of her first lover, her first husband,
to call u}} every charm by art, and to omit nothing which
would stimulate the desire of a young and powerful man.
Nor did events happen contrary to her design. For he fell
so desperately in love with her the moment he saw her,
that, dissembling his indignation, he sent for the earl into
a wood at Wharewelle [Whorwell, Hants] called Harewood,
imder pretence of hunting, and ran him through with a
javelin ; and when the illegitimate son of the murdered
nobleman approached with his accustomed familiarity, and
was asked by the king how he liked that kind of sport, he
is reported to have said, ' Well, my sovereign liege, I
ought not to be displeased with that which gives you
pleasure.' This answer so assuaged the mind of the
raging monarch, that, for the remainder of his life, he held
no one in greater estimation than this young man; mitiga-
ting the offence of this tyrannical deed against the father by
royal solicitude for the son. In expiation of this crime, a
monastery, which was built on this spot by Elfthrida, is
inhabited by a large congregation of nuns." See Dr.
Giles's translation of Malmshury' s Chronicle. Bohn's Edi-
tion. London, 1847 ; pp. 159-60.
Page 18. IIow Coventry was made free, d-c. This
popular legend does not seem to have the slightest historical
foundation. William of Malmsbiu-y, and other church
historians, relate the munificent gifts of Leofric and his
wife Godifa, such as their founding monasteries at Coventry
and elsewhere, but are wholly silent on the subject of the
lady's equestrian performance in jncris naturalibus.
Page 21. The duke of ComwaVs daughter. This tale
appears to be taken from the chronicle of Geoffrey of
Monmouth. See Bohn's Edition. London, 1848, p. 109.
Page 30. The banishment of the two dukes of Hereford
and Norfolk. This story is related by several of the old
chroniclers, who arc not agreed as to the catastrophe.
Page 36, 1. 17. Hoised sail. The phrase is found in
Shakespeare and Ben Johnson, and in several other writers
of the Elizabethan era. Evans, from sheer ignorance, see
his Old Ballads, has altered the word "hoised" to hoisted!
The commonest school dictionary, if he had consulted it,
would have taught him better.
Page 38. The nolle acts of A rth ur, £c. It will be seen
from the following extract, that this ballad is a poetical
and tolerably literal version of portions of three chapters
in La Mort U' Arthur, by Sir Thos. Malory, Knt., (1 485.)
" And so Sir Launcelot departed, and, liy adventure, came
into the same forest whereas he was taken sleeping. And
in the midst of an highway he met with a damsel riding
vipon a white palfrey, and either hialutecl other. ' Fair
damsel, ' said Sir Launcclot, ' know ye in this country any
adventures V ' Sir knight, ' said the damsel to Sir Launcelot,
' here are adventui-es near hand, an thou durst prove
them?' 'Why should I not prove adventures?' said Sir
Launcelot, ' as for that cause came I hither. ' ' Well, ' said
the damsel, ' thou seemest well to be a right good knight,
and if thou dare meet with a good knight, I shall ])ring
thee whereas the best knight is, and the mightiest that ever
thou found ; so that thou wilt tell me what thy name is,
and of what country and knight thou art.' 'Damsel, as for
to tell thee my name, I take no great force : truly, my
name is Sir Launcelot du Lake ! ' ' Sir, thou beseemest
well ; here be adventui-es that be fallen for thee ; for hereby
dwelleth a knight that will not be over-matched for no man
that I know, but ye over match him. And his name is Sir
Tur<|uine ; and, as I understood, he hath in his prison, of
king Arthur's court, good knights three score and four
that he hath won with his own hands. But when ye have
done this tournay, ye shall promise me, as ye are a true
knight, for to go with me, and help me and other damsels
that are distressed with a false knight.' ' All your intent
and desire, damsel, I will fulfil, so that ye will bring me to
this knight.' 'Now, fair knight, come on your way!'
And so she brought him unto the ford, and unto the tree
whereon the bason hung. So Sir Launcelot let his horse
drink ; and after, he beat on the bason with the end of his
spear so hard, and with such a might, that he made the
bottom fall out, and long he did so, but he saw nothing.
Then he rode endlong the gates of the manor well nigh
half an hour. And then was he ware of a great knight that
drove an horse afore him, and overthwart the horse lay an
armed knight bound. And ever, as they came nearer and
nearer, Sir Launcelot thought he should know him ; then
Sii' Launcelot was ware that it was Sir Gaheris, Su- Gawaine's
brother, a knight of the Table Round. ' Now, fair damsel,'
said Sir Launcelot, ' I see yonder comes a knight fast
bound, which is a fellow of mine, and brother he is unto
Sir Gawaine ; and at the first beginning I promise you, by
the leave of God, to rescue that knight ; but if his master
set the better in the saddle, I shall deliver all the prisoners
out of danger ; for I am sure that he hath two brethren of
mine prisoners with him. ' By that time that either had
seen other, they took their spears unto them. ' Now, fair
knight, ' said Sir Launcelot, ' put that wounded knight from
thy horse, and let him rest awhile, and then let vis two
prove our strength together. For as it is informed and
shewed me, thou doest, and hast done great despite and
shame unto the knights of the Round Table, and, therefore,
defend thee now shortly. ' ' An thou be of the Round
Tahle, ' said Sir Turquine, ' I defy thee and all thy fellow-
shiji V ' That is over much, ' said Sir Launcelot.
" And then they put their spears in their rests, and came
together with their horses as fast as it was possible for them
to run, and either smote other in the midst of their shields,
that both their horses' backs burst under them ; whereof
the knights were both astonied ; and as soon as they might
avoid their horses, they took their shields afore them, and
drew out their swords, and came together eagerly ; and
either gave other many strokes, for there might neither
shields nor harness hold their dints. And so within awhile
they had both grimly wounds, and bled passing grievously.
Thus they fared two hours or more trasing, and rasing,
either other where they might hit any bare place. At the
last they were both breathless, and stood leaning on their
swords. 'Now fellow,' said Sir Turquine, 'hold thy hand
awhile, and tell me what I shall ask thee.' ' Say on,' said
Sir Launcelot. ' Thou art,' said Sir Turquiue, ' the biggest
man that ever I met withal, and the best breathed ; and
like one knight that I hate above all other knights, and
that thou be not he, I will lightly accord with thee ; and
for thy love I will deliver all thy prisoners that I have, that
is three score and four, so that thou wilt tell me thy name,
and thou and I we will be fellows together, and never fail
thee while I live. ' ' It is well said, ' quoth Sir Launcelot,
' but sithence it is so that I may have thy friendship, what
knight is he that thou hatest above all other I ' ' Truly, '
said Sir Turquiue, ' his name is Launcelot du Lake ; for
he slew my brother, Sii' Carados, at the dolorous tower,
which was one of the best knights then living, and, therefore,
I him except of all knights ; for an I may once meet with
him, that one of us shall make an end of other, and to that
I make a vow. And for Sir Launcelot's sake I have slain
an hundred good knights, and as many I have utterly
maimed, that never after they might help themselves, and
many have died in my prison, and yet I have three score
and four, and all shall be delivered so that thou wilt tell me
thy name, and so it be that thou be not Sir Launcelot. '
*Now see I well,' said Sir Launcelot, 'that such a man I
might be, I might have peace ; and such a man I might
be, there should he between us two mortal war ; and now,
Sir knight, at thy request, I will that thou wit and know
that I am Sir Launcelot du Lake, king Ban's son of
Benwicke, and knight of the Bound Table. And now I
defy thee, do thy best. ' ' Ah ! ' said Sir Turquiue, ' Launcelot,
thou art unto me most welcome as ever was any knight, for
we shall never depart till the one of us be dead.' And
then hurtled they together as two wild bulls, rushing and
lashing with their shields and swords, that sometimes they
fell both on their noses. Thus they fought still two hours
and more, and never would rest, and Sir Tui-quiue gave Sir
Launcelot many wounds, that all the ground, there as they
fought, was all besprinkled with blood. Then, at the last,
Sir Turquine waxed very faint, and gave somewhat back,
and bare his shield full low for weariness. That soon espied
Sir Launcelot, and then lejat upon him fiercely as a lion,
and got him by the banner of his helmet, and so he plucked
him down on his knees, and, anon, rased of his helm, and
then he smote his neck asunder." — La Morte D' Arthur.
Part 1, cap. 108-9-10 ; Edit. London, 1816, pp. 227-31.
Page 71. The Sinne/s Redemption. In a copy of this
popular carol in the Roxburgh collection, it is said to be
" To the tune of My Bleeding Heart, or, In Greet". The
carol is ancient, but much more modern than the time of
Deloney. The Editor of the present work has been favoured
with a communication from W. Sandys, Esq., F.S.A., (the
compiler of the best collection of carols extant), from which
the following is an extract : — " The carol, ' All you that
are to mirth inclined', is rather a favourite, and has been,
I expect, regularly printed at the Christmas anniversary
for many years back. I got two copies, with a great many
other MS. carols, from an harmonious (but I fear bibulous)
blacksmith in the west of Cornwall some five-and-twenty
years since. Davies Gilbert, F.R.S., published a copy in
his small collection. I have, I believe, three copies by
Bloomer of Birmingham, (with variations) and broadside
copies by Pitts, Thomson, and Batchelar of London. The
copy printed in my Carols, p. 84, is shorter than these
(except Gilbert's) by several verses ; as I adopted the
shortest copy I got from Rowc the ))lacksmith. My copy
also differs somewhat from that in The Garland, where it is
called the Sinner's Redemption, which name is retained to
the present time." Mr. Sandys, in the same communica-
tion, observes, " I looked into Deloney's book previous to
printing, but I could not meet with a black-letter copy".
This carol is also to be found in a small, but very good col-
lection of carols, without date, but printed at Bilston, and
entitled, " A new Carol Book for Christmas".
Page 76. A wonderful Frophesie, dx. A broadside cojjy
of this production is preserved in the Roxburgh collection.
It bears the imprint of John White of Newcastle-on-Tyne,
and is therefore no older than the close of the last century ;
it may be a transcript of the original, but whether so or not,
it contains the following verification of the story ! " The
names of the masters of the parish who saw the maid on
her death-bed, and heard the words of the prophecy which
she declared, were as foUoweth : W. Wates, curate, T.
Davies, head constable, R.. Wilkins, and C. Jenner, church-
wardens, who, by consent of divers others in the same
parish, which were in the presence at the damsel's decease,
caused a letter to be written, and sent it from thence to
London on purpose to have it printed ; thereby to avoid
scandal. Contrived in metre by L. P." These initials (if
correct) enable us to ascertain the author and the date of
the composition, for L. P. were the initials used by Lawrence
Price, a popular ballad-writer, who flourished between 1642
and 1673. He wrote many chap-books, and one which still
retains its fame, viz.. The famoxis History of Valentine and
Orson. The Rev. Richard Tyacke, the present clergyman
of Padstow, says, " There is no tradition whatever existing
in this place in regard to the legend of the maid of Pad-
stow ; but James is a parochial name : Jenner and Wilkins
are not, and do not seem ever to have been so." Wc may
therefore conclude that the story is a fiction, and that the
ballad is what the ilying stationers term " a cock".
Page 89. A jjleascait sotig between Plain Truth and
Blind Ignorance. Percy calls the language put Into the
mouth of " Ignorance" the Somersetshii-e dialect, and sup-
poses the scene to be Glastonbury Abbey ; but the so-pre-
sumed Somerset dialect is nothing more than the j^atois
which all our old dramatists are in the habit of putting
into the mouths of their countrymen, and to localize which
would be about as easy a task as an attempt to localize
the strange jargon used by the countrymen of our modern
playwrights. By learned doctor, see page 94, 1. 8, is evidently
meant Dr. Martin Luther. In the last verse of the song,
Percy has improved the theologghj conjectui-al emendation.
The present Editor, however, has stuck to the text, bearing
in mind that the speaker is " Ignoi'ance", who, though
styled by some the parent of devotion, is certainly not a
very orthodox commentator.
Page 103. A j/rincely ditty, X-c. This song is evidently
in honour of queen Elizabeth, though said " to be translated
from the French". It may probably be of French origin, but
the Editor has not been able to trace it.
Page 105. Fancy and Desire. This poem is by Edward
Vere, earl of Oxford ; for further information respecting
the author, who flourished in the reign of Elizabeth, the
reader is referred to Percy's lieliques, Vol. i. Book 1.
Page 1(»7. Crcbljt'd Aye <nid Youtli. The first verse is
found in Shakes] )care's Passionate J'ilf/rihKiind therefore the
song has alwaysbccn ascribed to our groat bard ; but as many of
the sougs scattered over the l>liiys au<l poems of Shakespeare
are known to be the productions of his contemporaries, as
Marlowe and others, the Editor must require some stronger
evidence than any which has yet been adduced, to satisfy
him thab^ Deloney is not the author of Crabbed Age and
Youth. As a proof that the Passionate Pilgrim has no
claim to be considered the entire production of Shakspeare,
it is only necessary to point out that it contains Marlowe's
well-known song, " Come live with me and he my love''\ No
author was more quoted by the Elizabethan dramatists than
Page 111. As yoih came from the Holy Land. In the
Bodleian Library (MS. Rawl. Poet. 85, fol. 124) is a copy
of this ballad, with "W. R." appended to it, and therefore
certain antiquaries have jumped to the conclusion that Sir
Walter Raleigh is the author. Percy takes no notice of
the claim set up for Raleigh, nor does it appear to be gene-
rally known. Dr. Bliss, in his edition of the Atlicnce Oxon-
ieiises, ii, 248, prints the ballad from the Bodleian MS., but
he evidently did not know of the copy in Deloney's Garland;
and the Rev. J. Hannah, in his edition of Poems of Wotton,
Raleigh, and others, also prints from the same MS., and
ascribes the poem to Raleigh ! Surely our old minstrel
poet is not to be robbed of his claim to the ballad, on such
slender authority as the existence of a manuscript (written
by nobody knows whom), merely because it happens to be
signed " W. R."
Page 113. The Winning of Cales. The N"ictory cele-
brated in this very spirited sea song was gained on the 21st
June, 1596. In both editions of the Garland (See Preface)
the burden is " Englishmen comes". Percy, who corrected
his copy by the reading of the celebrated folio manuscript,
gives the chorus as it is in the preceding pages, thinking,
no doubt, that it was even better to follow a manuscript of
A'ery questionable authority, than to perpetuate a violation
Page 125. The Spanish lady's love. According to some
accounts, the hero of this ballad was of the family of the
Pophams of Littlecot : another tradition represents one of
the Levisons of Trentham as the hero ; and another legend
would have us believe that the hero was one of the family
of Bolte, of Thorpe Hall, Lincolnshu-e. The story is a very
common one, and is probably the invention of the poet.
The reader will find the evidence in favour of the various
claimants in Percy's Reliques, Vol. i. Part 2, and also in
'RimhdiVlt'' & Musical Illustratiom of Percy's Reliquis (Cramer
and Co., London, 1850), a work of considerable research, and
well deserving the notice of all admirers of our ancient
Page 126, 1. 25. Prest, i.e., ready. As in the fine old
version of the 104th Psalm,
" Lightuiugs to serve, we see also jtrest."
Page 129. A Farewel to Love. This is set to music by
Wm. Byrd, and was published by him as a madrigal in
1588. Byrd's copy does not contain the last verse, and the
other stanzas ar£ given with considerable variations.
REMARKS ON TUNES
EJe ffiarlanti of 0ootJ.SEtll
Page 1. Flying Fame. This is one of the tunes to which
Chevy Chace was sung. It is reprinted in Chappell's
National English Airs.
Page 9. The Hunt is up. The ballad is in a diflerent
measure to that of the song The Hunt is uj), printed by Mr.
John Payne Collier in his Extracts from the Registers of the
Stationers' Company, and could not be sung to the same
tune. It is probably the air often referred to as " Shore's
AVife", but which has not been recovered.
Page 12. Labandulishot. This time is mentioned in
A Handefull of Pleasant Ddites, 1584, and that is all we
know about it. The meaning of the word " Labandulishot"
is a mystery, and likely to remain so.
Page 18. Prince Arthur died at Ludlom. This tune
cannot be traced ; although from the number of ballads
directed to be sung to it, it may probably exist under some
146 KEMAKKS OX TUNES.
Page 21. In Greece. This is the same tune as " Queen
Dido". See Musical Ilhtstrations to Percy's Reliques : it is
still a popular ballad tune, and in the north of England
" The Bowes Tragedy", and other dolorous ditties, are
chanted to it by village crones.
Page 46. The Ghost's Hearse. Nothing is known of this
Page 49. Rohinson''s Ahnain. A tune composed by
Thomas Robinson, Lutenist, author of The Schoole of
Musicl-e, 1603, and Xevj Citharen Lessons, 1609.
Page 52. Crimson Velvet. This tune will be found in
Friesche I/ust-hof, 1634, and is reprinted in Rimbault's
Musical Illustrations to Percy's Reliques of A ncient Poetry.
Page 68. Hey ho, holiday. This tune may be found in
Pavans, Galliards, Ahnains, and otlier short Airs d-c, made
by Anthony Ilolhorne, 1599.
Page 71. The Sinner's Redemption, is, according to the
Roxburgh copy (see p. 140 ante), to be sung " to the tune
of My Bleeding Heart, or In Greet". Dr. Rimbault thinks
that two tunes are here alluded to ; neither of them is known.
The carol is nov; generally sung to a tune which is a version
of the one sung to " Deatli and the Lady".
Page 76. In Summer-time. There arc several tunes
called by this name, Init the only known one to which this
ballad coiddhe sung, is contained in Hall's Covrte of Vertne,
a godly antidote to The Courte of Venus, and printed in
1565. It is, however, very questionable whether the bar-
IIEMARKS ON TUNES. 147
bai'ous tune in Hall's book is the one alluded to at page 76.
The airs contained in The Courte of Vertice are puzzles, even
to a musical antiquary, and it is a difficult matter to decide
whether they are ballad or psalm tunes ; if the latter, they
certainly seem more adapted for the accompaniment of the
" Pig Virgiral", described in Bayle's Dictionary, and
Avison's Treatise on Musical Ex^^ression, than for the organ.
Page 82. IVie Bride's Good Morrow. This tune has not
Page 111. As I came from Walsingliam. The tune of
Walsingham is to be found in Queen Elizabeth's Virginal
book, and is reprinted in Chappell's National English Airs.
Page 113. The Winning of Cales. Dr. Rimbault iden-
tifies this tune with Tantara rara masks all, by a manu-
script Virginal book (temp. James I) in his possession.
See Musical Illustrations to Percy's Rely^ues of Ancient
Poetry, p. 23. If this tune were introduced on the stage
with appropriate musical accompaniments, it could not fail
of becoming popular. The following arrangement is by
Joseph Hart, Jun., Esq., the author of " I'd rather be an
Englishman", &c. &c.
Page 12.5. The Sjxaiish Lady. This truly Ijeautiful
tune is contained in several of the ballad operas printed
about 1798, and will be found in Chappell's National
English Airs. The following arrangement is by Mr. Joseph
Pa2;e 129. .1 farewell to Lore. See note page 144.
"w — *
' I ' I"!
1 1 --i-i*;
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_ - ' il
1. J / o
1 t^ ■ 1 (>
-J> . 1. -
1 ' /t^
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■ I j.
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"^ 1 r
-1 ^ LL
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- "• «
BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS :
g Eijirt) BDoli,
XOW FIRST EDITED
FROiNI THE OEIGINAL MANUSCRirX rRESERVED
IN THE LIBRARY OF SALISBURY
T. CROFTON CROKEPv, ESQ.,
PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY,
r.Y T. l^.K'TTAliDS, 37, GHKAT (^VT-'.KN STCF.F.T.
TH1<: RIGHT HON. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A.
KOBERT BELL, Esq.
WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq.
WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq., F.S.A.
W. DUERANT COOPER, Esq., F.S.A.
T. CROFTON CROKER, Esq., F.S.A., M.K.I.A., Treasurer.
JAMES HENRY DIXON, Esq.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FAIEHOLT, Esq., F.S.A.
W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S.A.
JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., Secretanj.
THE REV. A. HUME, LL.D., F.S.A.
SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, Bart.
JAMES PRIOR, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I. A.
WILLIAM SANDYS, Esq., F.S.A.
C. ROACH SMITH, Esq., F.S.A.
TlKiMAS WRIGHT. Esq., MX.. F.S.A.
The verses, now for the first time printed, are
from a neatly written manuscript, bound up with
a copy of the first edition of" Browne's Pastorals",
fol., Lond., 1613-16, preserved in the library of
Salisbury Cathedral. This manuscript was first
pointed out to public notice by one of our
members, Mr. Botfield, in his excellent work on
cathedral libraries, and is there considered to be
Browne's oAvn composition.
An attentive perusal of the poem has, however,
led some of the Editor's friends to entertain doubts
on this subject; not merely from the notices of
" Willy", which might probably be explained
away as examples of poetical license, but from the
character of the composition, which, nevertheless,
it is submitted, will bear comparison in poetical
merit with any of Bro-sATie's verses. The reader
will now have as good an opportunity to form his
own judgment as the Editor, who prefers rather
to leave the consideration of any dcbatcable ques-
tion to the members of the Pcrcv Socictv than to
offer a decisive opinion which might be liable to
be controverted by subsequent research.
The especial thanks of the Percy Society are
due to the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury for the
liberal manner in which they have been pleased
to permit the original volume to be used.
And it only remains for the Editor to observe,
that after the charges made, without communica-
tion, under the mask of friendly criticism, in a
volume issued with the sanction of the Shake-
spere Society, against him as the Editor of an
unpublished manuscript of Massinger's, he would
have hesitated again to appear before the mem-
bers of the Percy Society as the transcriber
and Editor of another unpublished manuscript,
had not Mr. Halliwell, their zealous secretary,
conferred on the Society the important favour of
correcting the proof sheets from the Editor's
transcript, and of collating them with the original
'I'. Ckofton Ckokkk.
3, Gloucester Roitd,
THE THIRD BOOKE.
THE FIRST SONG.
Thrice had the pale fac'cl Cinthia fill'd her homes,
And through the circlmg zodiaque, which adornes
Heaven's goodly frame, the horses of the sun
A fourth parte of their race had fiercelj- run,
Since faire Marina lefte her gentle flocke ;
Whose too untjTnely losse, the watchfull cock
Noe oftner gave a summons to the daye,
Then some kinde shepheard on the fertill ley
Tooke a sadd seate, and, with a drowned eye,
Remoan'd in heart farre more then elegie.
Heere sitts a shepheard, whose mellifluous tonguo,
On shaded bancks of rivers, whilome sung
Many sweet layes to her harmonious care ;
Reco\inting former joyes, when she liv'd there.
With present woes, and every pleasure gone
Tells with a hundred teares, and, those dropps done,
A thowsand sighes ensue, and gives not o're
Untill he faints, and soe can sighe noe more.
Yonder, another, on some swelling hill,
Records her sweet prayse to a gentle rill,
2 BRITANIA S PASTORALS.
Which, in reqiiitall, takes noe little payne
To roule her silver sands up to the swayne ;
And almost wept, that tyme would not permitt
That beautious mayde to bathe herselfe in it ;
Whose touch made streames, and men, and plants
Then he that clasp'd the Juno-seeming clowde.
Amongst the rest (that ere the sun did shyne
Sought the thick groves) neglectfuU Celadyne
Was come abroade ; and underneath a tree,
Dead as his joyes, and from all moysture free
As were the fountaynes of his lovely eyes,
With lavish weeping, discontented lyes.
Now, like a prodigall, he myndes in vayne
What he hath lost, and cannot lose againe.
Now thinckes he on her eyes, like some sadd wight.
Which newe strooke blynde bemones the want of light.
Her cheekes, her lii:)ps, to mynde he doth recall,
As one in exile cleane bereav'd of all.
Her modest graces, her affection more.
That wounds him most which onely can restore.
And lastly, to his pipe (which woods nor playnes
Acquainted not, but with the saddest strayncs,
Yet he more sadd then song or places can)
Vary'd his playntes, and thus ancwe began : —
Marina's gone, and nowe sitt I,
As Philomela (on a thornc,
Turn'd out of nature's livery),
Mirthles, alone, and all forlornc :
BOOKE III. SUNG T.
Onely she sings not, while my sorrowes can
Breathe forth such notes as fitt a dyeing swan.
Soe shutts the marigold her leaves
At the departure of the sun ;
Soe from the hony-suckle sheaves
The bee goes when the day is done ;
Soe sitts the turtle when she is but one,
And soe all woe, as I since she is gone.
To some fewe bu'ds, kinde Nature hath
Made all the summer as one daye ;
Which once enjoy' d, colde winter's wrath,
As night, they sleeping passe away.
Those happy creatures are, that knowe not yet
The payne to be depriv'd or to forgett.
I ofte have heard men save there be
Some, that with confidence professe
The helpfull Art of Memorie ;
But could they teach forgetfulnesse,
I'de learne, and try Avhat further art coulde doe,
To make me love her and forgett her too.
Sadd melancholy, that perswades
Men from themselves, to thincke they be
Headlesse, or other bodyes shades,
Hath long and booties dwelt with me ;
For coulde I thincke she some idea weare,
I still might love, forgett, and have her heere.
4 BKITANIA S PASTOKALS.
But such she is not : nor -would I,
For twice as many torments more,
As her bereaved companye
Hath brought to those I felt before,
For then noe future tyme might hap to knowe
That she deserv'd, or I did love her soe.
Yee houres, then, but as minutes be !
(Though soe I shall be sooner olde)
Till I those lovely graces see,
Which, but in her, can none beholde ;
Then be an age ! that we maye never trye
More griefe in partmg, but growe olde and dye.
Heere ceas'd the shepheard's song, but not his woe ;
Griefe never ends ytselfe. And he doth knowe
Nothing but tyme or wisdome to allaye yt ;
Tyme could not then ; the other should not stay yt.
Thus sitts the haples swajne : now sighes, now sings.
Sings, sighes, and weepes at once. Then from the
Of pitty beggs his pardon. Then his eye,
(Wronging his oraizons) some place hard by
Informcs his intellect, where he hath seen
His mistris feed her flock, or on the green
Dance to the merrj' pype : this drives liim thence
As one distracted with the violence
Of some bote fever, casts his clothes awaye,
Longs for the thing he Inath'd but yesterdaj'e.
liOOKE lit. SONG I. O
And fondlj' thincking 'twill his fitts appease,
Changeth his bedd, but keepes still the disease.
Quitting the playnes to seeke the gloomy springs,
He, like a swan that on Meander sings,
Takes congey of his mates with ling' ring haste,
To finde some streame where he maye sing his last.
Soe have I lefte my Tavy's flow'ry shore,
Farre-flowing Thamisis, and many more
Attractive pleasures which sweet England yeelds,
Her peopled cittyes and her fertill fields,
For Amphitrite's playnes ; those hath myne eye
Chang'd for our whilome fields of Normandy ;
For Seyne, those have I lefte ; for Loyre, the Seyne ;
And for the Thoiie changed Loyre againe ;
A\1iere, to the nymphes of Poictou, now I sing
A stranger note (yet such as ev'ry spring
Roules smiling to attend) for none of those
Yet have I lessen'd or exchang'd my woes.
Deere, dearest isle, from the I pass'd awaye
But as a shadowe, when the eye of daye
Shynes otherwhere ; for she, whose I have been,
By her declining makes me live unseen.
Nor doe I hope that any other light
Can make me her's ; the pallid queen of night,
And Venus (or some erre), maye, with their raycs.
Force an observing shade, but none of these
(Meteors to my sett sun) can ever have
That powre thou hadst. Sweet soule, thy silent grave
I give my best verse, if a shephcard's witt
Can make a dead liand capable of yt.
b BRITANIA S PASTORALS.
Chaste were our loves, as mutuall ; nor did we
Hardly dreame otherwise : our secrecye
Such, as I thincke the world hath never knowne
I had a mistris, till that I had none.
Poore Celadyne and I (but happyer he),
Onely in dreames meet our felicitie ;
Our joyes but shadowes are ; our constant woes
The daye shewes reall ; O, unhappy those !
Thrice, thrice unhappy whoe are ever taking
Their joyes in sleepe, but are most Avretched waking.
Seated at last neere Tavy's silver streame,
Sleepe seis'd our shepheard ; and in sleepe, a dreame
Shew'd him Marina all bedew'd with teares ;
Pale, as the lilly of the field appeares
When the unkist morne from the mountaynes topps
Sees the sweet flowres distill their silver dropps.
She seem'd to take him by the hand and saye,
O Celadyne, this, this is not the waye
To recompence the wrong which thou hast done
And I have pardon' d, since yt was begun
To exercise my virtue ; I am thine
More then I wish'd, or thou canst now devinc.
Seeke out the aged Lama, by Avhose skill
Thou mayst our fortunes know, and what the will
Of fate is in thy future. This she spoke,
And seem'd to kisse him, wherewith he awoke, —
And missing what (in thought) his sleepe had gayn'd,
He mus'd, sigh'd, wept, and lastly thus complaynde :
Vainc dreames, forbcarc ! ycc but dcccavers be.
For as in flatlring glasses woemcu sec
BOOKE III. SONG I. /
More beauty then i)ossest : soe I in you
Have all I can desire, but nothing true.
Whoe would be rich, to be soe but an howre
Eates a sweet fruite to rellishe more the sowre.
If but to lose againe we things possesse,
Nere to be happy is a happinesse.
Men walking in the pitchy shades of night
Can keepe their certayne way ; but if a light
O' retake and leave them, they are blynded more.
And doubtfull goe that went secure before.
For this (though hardly) I have ofte forborne
To see her face, faire as the rosy morne ;
Yet m)Tie owne thoughts in night such traytors be,
That they betraye me to that misery.
Then thincke noe more of her — as soone I maye
Commando the sun to robbe us of a daye,
Or with a nett repell a liquidd streame,
As loose such thoughts, or hinder but a dreame.
The lightsome ayre as eas'ly hinder can
A glasse to take the forme of any man
That stands before yt, as or tyme or place
Can drawe a veyle between me and her face.
Yet, by such thoughts my torments hourely thrive ;
For (as a pris'ner by his perspective)
By them I am inform' d of what I want ;
I en^y no we none but the ignorant.
Hee that ne'er sawe her (O, too happy wight)
Is one borne blynde that knowes noe want of light ;
He that nere kist her lipps, yet sees her eyes,
Lives, while he lives soe, still in paradise ;
b BBITANIA S PASTORALS.
But if he taste those sweets as hajjles I,
He knowes his want, and meets his miserye.
An Indian rude that never heard one sing
A heav'nly sonnet to a silver string,
Nor other sounds, but what confused heards
In pathles deserts make, or brookes or birds,
Should he heare one the sweet Pandora touch,
And loose his hearing streight ; he would as much
Lament his knowledge as doe I my chance.
And wish he still had liv'd in ignorance.
I am that Indian ; and my soothing dreames
In thirst have brought me but to painted streames,
Which not allaye, but more increase desire :
A man, neer frozen with December's ire,
Hath, from a heape of glowormes, as much ease
As I can ever have by dreames as these.
O leave me then ! and strongest memorie
Keeps still with those that promise-breakers be ;
Goe ; bidd the debter mynde his payment daye ;
Or helpe the ignorant devoute to saye
Prayers they understand not ; Icade the blynde,
And bidd ingratefull wretches call to mynde
Their benefactors ; and if vertue be
(As still she is) trode on by miserie,
Shewe her the rich, that they mayo free her want,
And leave to nurse the fawning sycophant;
Or, if thou see faire honor careles lye.
Without a tombe for after memorye,
Dwell by the grave, and teach all those lliat })assc
Tu ymilate, by shewcing who yt was.
BOOKE III. SONG I. 9
This waye, Remembrance, thou mayst doe some good,
And have due thanckes ; but he that understood
The throes thou bringst on me, Avoukl saye I misse
The sleepe of hun that did the pale moone kisse,
And that yt wore a blessing throwne on me,
Sometymes to have the hated lethargie.
Then, darke forgetfulnes, that onely art
The friend of Ivmatikes, seize on that part
Of memorie which hourely shewes her me !
Or suffer still her waking fantasie.
Even at the instant when I dreame of her,
To dreame the like of me ! soe shall we erre
In pleasures endles maze without offence,
And both connex as soules in innocence.
His sorrowe this waye yet had further gone,
For now his soule, all in confusion,
Discharg'd her passions on all things she mett.
And (rather then on none) on counterfett.
For in her suff'rings she will sooner frame
Subjects fantasticall, formes without name,
Deceave ytselfe against her owne conceite,
Then want to worke on somwhat thought of weight.
Hence comes yt, those affections which are tyde
To an inforced bcdd, a worthies bride,
(Wanting a lawfull hold) our loving parte
To subjects of lessc worth doth soone convert
Her exercise, which should be nobly free,
Kather on doggs, or dice, then idle be.
Thus, on his memory, poor soule, he cast
His exclamations ; and the dayc had past
10 beitania's pastorals.
With him as sadly as his sighes were true,
And on this subject. When (as if he flewe)
Leap'd from a neere grove (as he thought) a man,
And to th' adjoyning wood as quickly ran ;
This stayde his thoughts. And whilst the other fledd,
He rose, scarce knowing why, and followed.
It was a gentle swayne, on whose sweet youth
Fortune had throwne her worst, and all men's ruth ;
Whoe, like a satyre now, from men's aboade
The uncouth pathes of gloomy deserts trode ;
Deepe, sullen vales, that never mercy wonne.
To have a kinde looke from the powrefull sun ;
But mantled up in shades as fearefull night,
Could merry hearts with awfull terror smyte.
Sadd nookes and dreadfull clefts of mighty rocks
That knewe noe gueste within their careles locks,
But banefull serpents, hated beasts of prey.
And fatall fowle, that from the blessed daye
Hidd their abhorred heads ; these, only these,
Were his companyons and his cottages.
Wayfaring man, for aftertymes y-bore,
Who-ere thou be, that on the pleasant shore
Of my dcare Tavy hapst to treade along,
When Willy sings noe more his rurall song,
But long dissolv'd to dust, shall hardly have
A teare or verse bestow' d upon his grave ; —
Thincke on that hapless ladd, for all his meed,
Whoe first this laye tun'd to an oaten reed ;
Then aske the swaynes, who, in the valleys dcepe,
Sing luyes of love and feed their harmlcs slicepc,
BOOKE III. SONG I. 11
Aske them for Ramsham (late a gallant wood,
Whose gaudye nymphes, tripping beside the floode,
Allur'd the sea gods from their brackish strands
To courte the beautyes of the upper lands).
And neere to yt, halfwaye, a high-brow' d hill,
Whose mayden sydes nere felt a coulter's ill,
Thou mayst beholde, and (if thou list) admire
An arched cave cutt in a rock intire,
Deepe, hoUowe, hideous, overgrowne with grasse,
With thornes and bryers, and sadd mandragoras :
Poppy, and henbane, therby, grewe so thicke,
That had the earth been thrice as lunaticke
As learn'd Copernicus in sport would frame her,
We there had sleepy simples founde to tame her.
The entrance to yt was of brick and stone.
Brought from the ruyn'd towre of Babilon.
On either syde the doore a pillar stood,
Whereon, of yore, before the generall flood,
Industrious Seth in characters did score
The mathematicks soule-inticing lore.
Cheeke-SAVolne Lyoeus neere one pillar stoode.
And from each hand a bunche full with the blood
Of the care-killing vyne, he crushed out.
Like to an artificial water-spout ;
But of Avhat kinde yt was the writers vary,
Some say 'twas clarett, others sweare canarj-.
On th' other syde, a statue strangely fram'd,
And never till Columbus voyage nam'd,
The genius of America, blewe forth
A fume that hath bewitched all the north.
12 beitania's pastorals.
A noyse of ballad makers, rymers, drinckers,
Like a madd crewe of uncontrolled tinkers,
Laye there, and druncke, and sung, and suck'd, and writt
Verse without measure, vohnnes without witt ;
Complaints and sonnetts, vowes to yong Cupido,
May be in such a manner as now I doe.
He that in some faire daye of sommer sees
A little comonwealth of thrifty bees
Send out a pritty colony, to thrive
Another where, from their too-peopled hyve.
And markes the yong adventurers with payne
Fly off and on, and forth, and backe againe,
Maye well conceave with how much labour these
Druncke, writt, and wrongd the learnde Pierides ;
Yet tyme, as soonc as ere their workes were done,
Threwe them and yt into oblivion.
Into this cave the forlorne shepheard enters,
And Celadyn pursues ; yet ere he venters
On such an obscure place, knowing the danger
Which ofte betided there the careles stranger,
Moly, or such preservative he takes.
And thus assur'd, breakes through the tangling brakes;
Searcheth each nooke to fynde the haples swayne,
And calls him ofte, yet seekes and calls in vayne.
At last, by glimring of some glowormes there,
He findes a darke hole, and a wynding stayre ;
Uncouth and hideous the descent appeares,
Yet (unappalld with future chance or feares)
Essays the first stcjip, and goes boldly on ;
Peeces of rfjtlen wood on each side shone,
BOOKE III. SONG r. 13
Which, rather then to guide his vent'rous pace,
With a more dreadfull horror fill'd the place.
Still he descends. And many a stepp doth make,
As one whose naked foote treads on a snake :
The stapes so worne, he feareth, in a trice,
To meet some deepe and deadly precipice.
Thus came he downe into a narrow vaulte.
Whose rocky sides (free from the smallest faulte,
Inforc'd by age or weather) and the roofe
Stood firmely strong and almost thunder-proofe.
'Twas long ; and at the farre-off further end
A little lampe he spyes ; as he had kend,
One of the fixed starres ; the light was small,
And distance made yt almost nought at all.
Tow'rds it he came, and (from the swayne which fledd)
These verses falne tooke up, went neere and read.
Listen ! yee gentle wyndes, to my sadd mone ;
And, mutt'ring brooks, attend my heavy plaints.
Yee melodists, which in the lowe groves sing.
Strive with your fellowes for sweet skill no more,
But wayle with me ! and if my song yee passe
For drery notes, match with the nightingale.
Henceforward with the ruefull nightingale
Noe other but sadd groves shall heare my mone.
And night beare witnes of my dolcfuU plaints ;
Sweet songs of love let others quaintly sing,
For fate decrees I shall be knowne noe more
But by my woes. All pleasures from me passe,
As gliding torrents to the ocean passe,
14 britania's pastorals.
Nere to come back. The all-voice nightingale
Comforts her fellowes, and makes deare her mone ;
But (where I would) regardles are my plaints,
And but for eccho should unansweer'd sing;
Can there in others be affection more
Then is in me, yet be neglected more ?
Then such neglect and love shall no man passe.
For voyce she well may mate the nightingale,
And from her syrens song I learnt to mone ;
Yet she, as most imperfect deemes my plaints,
Though too-too long I them have us'd to sing.
Yet to noe hajipyer key she letts me sing.
Shall I then change ? O there are others more
(As I heare shepheards wayling, when I passe
In deserts wilde to heare the nightingale)
Whose eares receive noe sounde of any mone,
But heare their praises rather then our plaints.
Then since to fljTit I still addresse my plaints,
And my sadd numbers to a deafe eare sing,
My cryes shall beate the subtill ayre noe more,
But all my woes imprison ; and soe passe
The poore rest of my dayes. Noe nightingale
Shal be disturb' d in forrests with my mone.
And Avhen througli inpcnt mono I hyde my plaints.
And what I should sing makes me live noe more,
Tell her my woos did passe the nightingale.
Sadd swayne (quoth Ccladyne) who ere thou be,
I grieve not at my paines to followe thee ;
Thou art a fitt companyon for my woe,
Which hearts suncke into misery should knowe.
BOOKE III. SONG T. 15
O, if thou heare me, speakc ; take to thy home !
Receave into this dismall living tombe
A sorrowe loaden wretch ! one that would dye
And tieade the gloomy shades of destinye
Onely to meet a soule that coulde relate
A storye true as his, and passionate !
By this a sadd and heavy sounde began
To fill the cave. And by degrees he wan
Soe neere, he heard a well accorded lute,
Touch' d by a hand had strooke the Thracian mute.
Had yt been heard when sweet Amphion's tones
Gave motion to the dull and senceles stones ;
When, at the notes his skillfull fingers warble,
The pibble tooke the flynte, the flynte the marble ;
And rouling from the quarry justly fall,
And mason-lesse built Cadmus towne a wall.
Each one each other to this labour woo.
And were the workemen and materialls too.
Had this man playde when tother touch'd his lyre,
Those stones had from the wall been seen retyi-e ;
Or stopp'd halfe waye to heare him striking thus,
Thoughc each had been a stone of Sisyphus.
Naye, the musitian had his skill approv'd.
And been as ravish'd as the rocks he mov'd.
Celadyne list'ned ; and the arched skyes
Myght wish themselves as many eares as eyes,
That they might teach the starrc-bestudded spheares
A musicke newe, and more devyne than theirs.
To these sadd-sweet strings, as ere woe befriended,
This verse was marry'd : —
16 bkttania's pastorals.
Yet one daye's rest for all my cryes I
One howre amongst soe many !
Springs have their sabaoths ; my poore eyes
Yet never mett ^dth any.
He that doth but one woe misse,
O Death, to make him thyne ;
I would to God that I had his,
Or else that he had mjme !
By this sadd wish wee two should have
A fortune and a wife ;
For I should wedd a peacefuU grave,
And he a happy life.
Yet lett that man whose fortunes s^\'ym
Soe hye by my sadd woe,
Forbeare to treade a stepp on him
That dy'de to make them soe.
Onely to acquitt my foes,
^Vrite this where I am layne :
Heere lyes the mem icJiome others icocs
And those he lov^d have slaine.
Heere the musicke ended.
But Celadync leaves not his jnous guesi;:
For, as an artist curiously addrest
To some conclusion, having haply founde
A small incouvagement on his first groundo.
BOOKE III. SONG I. 17
Goes cheerefull on ; nor from it can be wonne,
Till he haA'e perfected what he begun ;
Soe he pursues, and labours all he can
(Since he had heard the voice) to fynde the man.
A little dore, at last, he in the syde
Of the long stretched entry had descryde,
And coming to it with the lampe, he spyes
These lynes upon a table writt :
Love ! when I mett her first whose slave I am,
To make her myne, why had I not thy flame ?
Or els thy blyndnes not to see that daye ?
Or if I needs must looke on her rare parts,
Love ! why to wounde her had I not thy darts,
Since I had not thy wings to fly away ?
Winter was gone ; and by the lovely spring
Each pleasant grove a merry quire became,
Where day and night the carelesse birds did sing,
Love, tvhen I mett her first tvhose slave I am.
She sate and listned (for she lov'd his strayne)
To one whose songs coulde make a tiger tame ;
Which made me sighe, and crye, O happy swajme !
To make her myne, u'hy had I not thy fiame'^
I vainely sought my passion to controule :
And, therefore (since she loves the learned laye),
Homer, I should have brouglit with me thy soule,
Or else thy blyndnesse, nott to see that daye !
18 britania's pastorals.
Yet would I not (myne eyes) my clayes outrun
In gazing (coulde I lielpe it, or the arts),
Like him that dyde with looking on the sun ;
Or if I needs must, looke on her rare 2)arts !
Those, seen of one who every herbe would try,
And what the blood of elephants imparts
To coole his flame, yet would he (forced) cry,
Love ! ivhy to wounde her had I not thy darts ?
O Dedalus ! the labrinth fram'd by thee
Was not soe intricate as where I straye ;
There have I lost my dearest libertie.
Since I had not thy loings to Jiye aioaye.
And still attentive eares, doe now discover
Sufficient cause to thincke some haples lover
Inhabited this darke and sullen cell,
Where none but shame or dismall griefe would dwell.
As I have seen a fowler, by the floods
In winter tyme, or by the fleeced woods,
Steale softly ; and his stepps full often vary,
As heere and there flutters the wished quarry ;
Now with his hecle, now with his toe he treads,
Fearing the crackling of the frozen meades ;
Avoydcs each rotten sticke ncere to his footc.
And creepes, and labours thus, to gett a shootc :
Soe Celadync approches neere the dore,
Where sighcs amaz'd liim as the lute before ;
BOOKE III. SONG I. 19
Sighes fetchd so deepe, they seemd of powre to carry
A soule fitt for etcrnitye to marrye.
Had Dido stood upon her cliffs and seen
Ilium's -^neas stealing from a queen,
And spent her sighes as powrefuU as were these,
She had inforc'd the faire Nereides
To answere hers ; those, had the Nayads wonne,
To drive his winged Pyne rounde with the sun.
And long ere Drake (without a fearfull wrack)
Girdled the world, and brought the wandrer back,
Celadyne, gently, somewhat op'd the dore.
And by a glimmring lampe upon the floore
Descryde a i^ritty curious rocky cell ;
A spoute of water in one corner fell
Out of the rocke upon a little wheele.
Which, speedy as it coulde the water feele,
Did, by the helpe of other engines lent,
Sett soone on worke a curious instrument,
Whose sounde was like the hollowe, heavy flute,
Joyn'de with a deepe, sadd, sullen, cornemute.
This had the unknowne shepheard sett to playe
Such a soule-thrilling note, that if that day
Celadyne had not seen this uncouth youth
Decend the cave, he would have sworne for truth
That great Apollo, slidd down from his spheare,
Did use to practise all his lessons there.
Upon a couche the musick's master laye ;
And whilst the handlesse instrument did playe
Sadd heavy accents to his woes as deepe,
To wooe him to an everlasting sleepe,
20 britania's pastorals.
Stretch' d carelesly upon his little bedd,
His eyes fixt on the floore, his carefull head
Leaning upon his palme, his voice but fainte,
Thus, to the sullen cave, made his complaynte :
Fate ! yet at last be mercifull. Have done !
Thou canst aske nothing but confusion ;
Take then thy fill ! strike till thyne edge be dull !
Thy cruelty will soe be pittifuU.
He that at once hath lost his hopes and feares
Lives not, but onely tarryes for more yeares ;
(Much like an aged tree which moisture lacks.
And onely standeth to attend the axe.)
So have, and soe doe I : I truely knowe
How men are borne, and whither they shall goe ;
I knowe that like to silkewormes of one yeare.
Or like a kinde and wronged lover's teare.
Or on the pathles waves a rudders dint,
Or like the little sparkles of a flynt.
Or like to thinne rounde cakes with cost pcri'um'd,
Or fireworkes, onely made to be consvim'd;
I knowe that such is man, and all that trust
In that weake peece of animated dust.
Thesilkeworme droopes, the lover's teare' s soonc shcdd,
The shipp's waye quickly lost, the sparkle dead ;
The cake burnes out in hast, the fireworke's done,
And man as soonc as these as quickly gone.
Daye hath her night ; millions of yeares shal be
Bounded at last by long eternitie.
The roses have their spring, they have their fall,
Soe have ihe trees, beasts, fowlc, and soe have all;
BOOKE III. SONG I. 21
The rivers run and end : starres rise and sett ;
There is a heate, a colde, a dry, a wett ;
There is a heaven, a hell, an earth, a skye ;
Or teach me something newe, or lett me dye !
Deere fate, be mercifull by prayers wonne.
Teach me once what Death is, and all is done !
Thou mayst object; there's somewhat else to learne ;
doe not bring me backe unto the querne
To grynde for honours, when I cannot tell
What will be sayde in the next chronicle !
Lett my imblemish'd name meet with a tombe
Deservedly unspurn'd at, and at home !
I knowe there are possessions to inheritt;
But since the gate is stopp'd up to all merritt.
Some haples soules, as I, doe well observe it.
The waye to loose a place is to deserve it.
I am not ignorant besides of this,
Each man the workeman of his fortune is ;
But to apply and temper well his tooles,
He followe must th' advice of babes and foolcs ;
Thoughe vii-tue and reward be the cxtreames
Of fortune's lyne, yet there are other beames,
Some spriggs of bribery imp'd in the lyne ;
Pandrisme or flatt'ry from the Florentine,
Which whoesoe catches, comes home crown' d with bayc.
Ere he that runs the right lyne runs halfe waye.
WTiat love and beauty is (thou know'st, O ! fate)
1 have read over ; and, alas ! but late ;
Their woundes yet bleed, and yet noe helpe is nye ;
Then teach me something newe, or lett me dye !
22 britania's pastorals.
Honors and places, riches, pleasures be
Beyonde my starre, and not ordayn'd for me ;
Or svu'e the waye is lost, and those we holde
For true, are counterfaits to those of olde.
How sprout they else soe soon, like ozyer topps.
Which one spring breeds and which next autumne lopps.
Why are they else soe fading ? soe possest
With guilt and feare, they dare not stand the test ?
Had virtue and true merritt been the basis,
Whereon were rays' d their honors and hye places,
They had been stronger seated, and had stood
To after ages, as our antient blood.
Whose very names, and courages well steel' d.
Made up an armye, and could crowne a field.
Open the waye to merritt and to love I
That we may teach a Cato and a Dove
To heart a cause and weighe affection deare,
And I will thin eke we live, not tarry heere.
Further his plaints had gone (if needed more),
But Celadyne, now widing more the dore.
Made a small noyse, which, startling up the man,
He streight descryde him, and anewe began :
What sorrowe, or what curiositie,
Saye (if thou be a man), conducted thee
Into these darke and unfrequented cells.
Where nought but I and dreadfull hoiror dwells ?
Or, if thou be a ghost, for pitty saye
What powre, what chance, hath ledd thee to this way ?
If soe thou be a man, there can nought come
From tliem to iiic, iinlcssc yt be a tombe,
BOOKE III. SONG I. 23
And that I holde already. See ; I have
Sufficient too to lend a king a grave,
A blest one too, Avithin these hollowe vaults ;
Earth hydes but bodyes ; but oblivion, faults.
Or, if thou be a ghost sent from above,
Saye, is not blessed virtue and faire love,
Faith and just gratitude rewarded there ?
Alas ! I knowe they be : I knowe they weare
Crownes of such glory, that their smallest ray
Can make us lend th' Antipodes a daye :
Nay, change our spheare, and need noe more the sun
Then those that have that light whence all begun.
Staye further inquisition, quoth the swayne,
And knowe I am a man ; and of that traj-ne
Which neer the westerne rivers feed their flocks.
I need not make me knowne ; for if the rocks
Can holde a sculpture, or the poAVTe of verse
Preserve a name, the last-borne maye reherse
Me and my fortunes. Curiositie
Lead me not hither : chance, in seeing thee,
Gave me the thread, and by it I am come
To finde a living man within a tombe.
Thy plaints I have oreheard ; and lett it be
Noe wrong to them that they were heard of me.
Maye be that heaven's great providence hath ledd
Me to these horrid caves of night and dread.
That, as in phisicke, by some signature,
Nature herselfe doth pointe us out a cure.
The liverwort is, by industrious art,
Knowne phisicall and soveraignc for that part
24 britania's pastorals.
Which it resembles ; and if we applye
The eye-bright, by the like, unto the eye,
Why mayst not thou (disconsolate) as well
From me receave a ciu-e ? since in me dwell
All those sadd wrongs the world hath throwne on thee;
Which wrought soe much on my proclivitie,
That I have entertayn'd them, and th' art growne
And soe incorporated, and myne o\ATie,
That griefe, elixir like, hath turn'd me all
Into itselfe ; and therefore phisicall.
For if in herbes there lye this misterie,
Saye, why in other bodyes maye not we
Promise ourselves the like ? why shouldst not thou
Expect the like from me this instant now ?
And more, since heaven hath made me for thy cure
Both the phisitian and the signature.
Ah ! Celadyne, quoth he, and thinck't not strange
I call thee by thy name ; thoughe tymes now change,
Makes thee forgett what myne is, with my voycc,
I have recorded thyne : and if the choice
Of all our swaynes, which by the westerne rills
Feed their white flocks and tune their oaten quills,
Were with me now, thou onely art the man
Whome I woulde chuse for my phisitian.
The others I Avould thancke and wishe awaye.
There needs but one sun to bring in the dayc,
Nor but one Celadyne to cleere my night
Of discontent ; if any humane wight
Can reach that possibilityc : but know
My griefcs admitt noc ])arallax ; they goc,
BOOKE III. SONG I. 2i
Like to the fixed starres, in such a spheare,
Soe hye from meaner woes and comon care
That thou canst never any distance take
'Twixt myne and others woes ; and till thou make
And knowe a difi''rence in my saddest fate,
The cause, the station, and the ling' ring date.
From other men, which are in griefe oregone
(Since it is best read by comparison),
Thou never canst attayne the least degree
Of hope to worke a remedye on me.
I knowe to whome I speake. On Isis banckes.
And melancholy Charwell, neere the rancks
Of shading willowes, often have we layne
And heard the muses and Apollo's strayne
In heavenly raptures, as the powres on highe
Had there been lecturers of poesye,
And nature's searcher, deepe philosophy ;
Yet neither these, nor any other art,
Can yeeld a meanes to cure my wounded heart :
Staye then from loosing longer tyme on me.
And in these deepe caves of obscuritie
Spend some fewe howres to see what is not knowne
Above ; but on the wings of rumor blowne.
Heere is the faeries' court (if soe they be),
(With that he rose) ; come neere, and thou shalt see
Whoe are my neighbours. And with that he leadd
(With such a pace as lovers use to treade
Neere sleeping parents) by the hand the swayne
Unto a pritty seate, neer which these twayne,
By a romidc little hole, had soone descryde
A trim fcatc roomc, about a fathomc wide.
26 britania's pastorals.
As much in height, and twice as much in length,
Out of the mayne rocke cutt by artful! strength.
The two-leav'd doore was of the mother pearle,
Hinged and nayl'd with golde. Full many a girle,
Of the sweet faierye ligne, wrought in the loome
That fitted those rich hangings cladd the roome.
In them w^as ■\\Tought the love of their great king ;
His triumphs, dances, sports, and revelling :
And learned Spenser, on a little hill,
Curiously wrought, laye, as he tun'de his quill;
The floore could of respect compla}Tie noe losse,
But neatly cover' d Avith discolour' d mosse.
Woven into storyes, might, for such a peece,
Vye with the richest carpetts brought from Greece.
A little mushrome (that was now growTie thinner,
By being one tyme shaven for the dinner
Of one of Spaine's grave grandis, and that daye
Out of his greatnesse larder stolne awaye,
By a more nimble elfe then are their witts,
Whoe practice truth as seldom as their spitts) ;
This mushrome (on a frame of waxe y-pight.
Wherein -was wrought the strange and crviell fight
Betwixt the troublous comonwcalth of flyes,
And the slye spider with industrious thighes)
Serv'd for a table; then a little elfe
(If possible, far lesser then itselfe),
Brought in the covering, made of white rose leaves,
And (wrought together with the spinner's slcavcs)
Mett in the table's middle in right angles ;
Tlic trenchers were of little silver spangles.
BOOKE III. SONG I, 27
The salt, the small bone of a fishe's backe,
Whereon, in little, was exprest the wracke
Of that deplored mouse, from whence hath sprung
That furious battle Homer whilome sung,
Betwixt the frogs and mice : soe neately wrought
You coulde not worke it lesser in a thought.
Then, on the table, for their bread, was put
The milke-white kernells of the hazell nutt ;
The cupboord, suteable to all the rest,
Was, as the table, with like cov'ring drest.
The ewre and bason were, as fitting well,
A perriwinckle and a cockle-shell :
The glasses pure, and thinner then we can
See from the sea-betroth' d Venetian,
Were all of ice ; not made to overlast
One supper, and betwixt two cow-slipps cast,
A prittyer fashion hath not yet been tolde,
Soe neate the glasse was, and so feate the molde,
A little spruce elfe then (just of the sett
Of the French dancer or such marionett)
Cladd in a sute of rush, woven like a matt ;
A monkeshood flo^\Te then serving for a hatt ;
Under a cloake made of the spider's loome.
This faiery (with them helde a lusty groome)
Brought in his bottles ; neater were there none.
And every bottle Avas a cherrystone.
To each a seed pearle served for a screwe,
And most of them were fiU'd with early dewe.
Some choicer ones, as for the king most meet.
Held mcl-dcwc and the hony -suckles sweet.
28 britania's pastorals.
All things thus fitted ; streightways follow'd in
A case of small musitians, with a dynne
Of little hautboys, whereon each one strives
To shewe his skill ; they all were made of syves,
Excepting one, which pufte the players face,
And was a chibole, serving for the base.
Then came the service. The first dishes were
In white brothe boylde, a crammed grashopper ;
A pismire roasted whole ; five crayfish eggs ;
The udder of a mouse ; two hornett's leggs ;
In steed of olyves, cleanly pickl'd sloes ;
Then, of a batt, were serv'd the petty- toes ;
Three fleas in souse ; a criquet from the bryne ;
And of a dormouse, last, a lusty chyne.
Tell me, thou grandi, Spaine's magnifico,
Covdd'st thou ere intertayne a monarch soe,
Without exhausting most thy rents and fees,
Tolde by a hundred thowsand marvedies ?
That bragging poore accompt. If we should heere
Some one relate his incomes every yeare
To be five hundred thousand farthings tolde,
Coulde yee refrayne from laughter ? coulde yce holde ?
Or see a miser sitting downe to dyne
On some poore spratt new squeesed from the bryne,
Take out his spectakles, and with them eatc.
To make his dish seemc larger and more greate.
Or else to make his golde its worth surpasse,
Woulde sec it throughc a multi])lying glasse :
Such are there auditts ; such their liighe cstccmcs ;
A Spauyard is .still lessc tlicn what he sccmcs ; —
BOOKE III. SONG I. 29
Lesse wise, less potent ; rich, but glorious ;
Prouder then any, and more treacherous.
But lett us leave the bragadochio heere,
A.nd turne to better company and cheere.
The first course tlius serv'd in; next follow'd on
The faierye nobles, ushering Oberon,
Their mighty king ; a prince of sub till powre,
Cladd in a sute of speckled gilliflowTe.
His hatt, by some choice master in the trade.
Was (like a helmett) of a lilly made.
His ruffe a daizie was, soe neately trimme,
As if, of purpose, it had growne for him.
His points were of the lady-grasse, in streakes,
And all were tagg'd, as fitt, with titmouse beakes.
His girdle, not three tymes as broade as thinne.
Was of a little trout's selfe-spangled skinne.
His bootes (for he was booted at that tyde),
Were fittly made of halfe a squirrell's hyde.
His cloake Avas of the velvett flowres, and lynde
With flowre-de-lices of the choicest kinde.
Downe sate the king; his nobles did attend ;
And after some repaste, he gan commend
Their hawkes and sporte. This in a brave place flewe,
That bird too soone was taken from the mewe.
This came well throughe the fowlc, and quick againe
Made a brave point streight up upon her trayne.
Another for a driver none came nye ;
And such a hawkc truss' d well the butterfly.
That was the quarry which their pastime crownde ;
Their hawkes were wagtayles, most of them mew'd
30 britania's pastorals.
Then of their coursers' speed, sure-footing pace,
Their next discourse was ; as that famous race,
Ingend'red by the wynde, coulde not compare
With theirs, noe more then coukle a Flemish mare
With those fleet steeds that are so quickly hurl'd.
And make but one daye's journey rounde the world.
Naye, in their praises, some one durst to run
Soe farre to say, that if the glorious sun
Should lame a horse, he must come from the spheares
And furnish up his teame with one of theirs.
Those that did heare them vaunte their excellence
Beyonde all value, with such confidence,
Stoode wond'ring how such little elfes as these
Durst venture on soe greate hyperboles ;
But more upon such horses. But it ceast
(I meane the wonder) when each nam'd his bcaste.
My nimble squirrell (quoth the king) and then
Pinching his hatt is but a minute's ken.
The earth ran speedy from him, and I dare
Saye, if it have a motion circular,
I coulde have run it rounde ere she had done
The halfe of her circumvolution.
Her motion, lik'd with myne, should almost be
As Saturne's, myne the primum mobile.
Then, looking on the faicryes most accounted,
I grante, quoth he, some others were well mounted,
And praise your choice ; I doe acknowledge that
Your wccscll ran well too ; soe did your ratt ;
And were his tayle cutt shorter to the fashion,
You. in his speed, wouldc findc an alteration.
BOOKE III. SONG I. 31
Another's stoate had pass'd the swiftest teggs,
If somewhat sooner he had founde his leggs ;
His hare was winded well ; soe had indeed
Another's rabbett tolerable speed.
Yoiir catt (quoth he) would many a courser baffle ;
But sure he re}Ties not halfe well in a snaffle.
I knowe her well ; 'twas Tybert that begatt her,
But she is flewe, and never will be fatter :
The vara was lastly prais'd, and all the kinde,
But on their pasternes they went weake behynde.
What brave discourse was this ! now tell me, you
That talke of kings, and states, and what they doe ;
Or gravely silent, with a Cato's face,
CheAve ignorance untill the later grace ;
Or such, whoe (with discretion then at jarre)
Dare checke brave Grinvill and such sonnes of warre.
With whome they durst as soone have measur'd swords,
(How ere their pens fight or wine-prompted words)
As not have lefte him all with blood besmear'd,
Or tane an angry lion by the beard.
Forbeare that honor' d name ! you, that in spight
Take paines to censure, more then he to fight ;
Trample not on the dead ! those wrongly laye
The not-successe, whoe soonest ran awaye.
Kill not againe whome Spainc would have repreev'd !
Had ten of you been Grinvills, he had liv'd.
Were it not better that yovi did apply
Your meate, unlaught at of the standers by ?
Or (like the faierye king) talke of your horse.
Or such as vou, for want of something worse.
32 britania's pastorals.
Lett that deare name for ever sacred be :
Caesar had enemyes, and soe had he ;
But Grinvill did that Roman's fate transcend,
And fought an enemy into a friend.
Thus with small things I doe compose the greate.
Now comes the king of faieries second meate ;
The first dish was a small spa^^^l'd fish and fryde,
Had it been lesser, it had not been spyde ;
The next, a dozen- larded mytes ; the third,
A goodly pye fill'd with a lady-bird.
Two roasted flyes, then of a dace the poule,
And of a miller's- thumb e a mighty joule ;
A butterfly which they had kill'd that daye,
A brace of ferne-webbs pickled the last Maj'e.
A well-fedd hornet taken from the souse,
A larkes tongue dryde, to make him to carowse.
As when a lusty sa\\'j'er, well preparde,
His breakefast eaten, and his timber squarde,
About to rayse up as he thincketh fitt
A good sound tree above his sawing pitt,
His neighbours call'd; each one a lusty heaver.
Some steere the rouler, others ply the leaver ;
Heave heere, sayes one ; another calls, shove thither ;
Heave, roule, and shove ! cry all, and altogether ;
Looke to your foote, sir, and take better heed,
Cryes a by-stander, noe more hast then need ;
Lifte up that cnde tlierc ; bring it gently on ;
And now thrust all at once, or all is gone ;
Holde there a little; softc ; now use your strength;
And with this stirrc, the tree Ivcs fitt at length.
nooKE III. — soxc. I. 33
Just such a noyse was heard when came the last
Of Oberon's second messe. One crj'de, holde fast;
Put five more of the guard to't, of the best ;
Looke to your footing ; stoppe awhile and rest ;
One would have thought with soe much strength and
They surely would have brought Behemoth in,
That mighty oxe which (as the Rabbins saye)
Shall feaste the Jcwes upon the latter daye.
But at the last, with all this noyse and cry,
Ten of the guard brought in a minowe-pye.
The mountaynes labour'd and brought forth a mouse,
And why not in this mighty princes house
As any others ? Well, the pye was plac'd.
And then the musicke strooke, and all things grac'd.
It was a consort of the choicest sett
That never stood to tune, or right a frett ;
For Nature to this king such musike sent.
Most were both players and the instrument.
Noe famous sensualist, what ere he be,
Whoe in the brazen leaves of historic
Hath his name registred, for vast expence
In stri\dng how to please his hearing sence,
Had ever harmony chose for his eare
Soe fitt as for this king ; and these they were.
The trebble was a three-mouth'd grashopper,
Well tutor'd by a skillfull quirister,
An antient master, that did use to playe
The friskins which the lambs doe dance in Maye ;
And long t}'me was the chiefest call'd to sing,
34 bkitaxia's pastorals.
When on the playnes the faierj' es made a ring ;
Then a field-criquett, with a note full cleare,
Sweet and unforc'd and softly sung the meane,
To whose accord, and with noe mickle labor,
A pritty faieiy playde upon a tabor :
The case was of a hasell nutt, the heads
A batt's-wing dress'd, the snares were silver thredds;
A little stiifned lamprey's skin did sute
All the rest well, and serv'd them for a flute ;
And to all these, a deepe well brested gnatt.
That had good sides, knewe well his sharpe and flatt,
Sung a good compasse, making noe wry face, —
Was there as fittest for a chamber base.
These choice musitians, to their merry king
Gave all the pleasure which their art coulde bring ;
At last he ask'd a song : but ere I fall
To sing it over in my pastorall,
Give me some respitt ; now the daye growes olde,
And 'tis full tjTue that I had pitch' d my folde;
When next sweet morning calls us from our bedds
With harmelesse thoughts and with untroubled heads.
Meet we in Roivdcn mcadowes, where the flood
Kisses the banckes, and courts the shady wood ;
A wood wherein some of these layes were drest.
And often sung by Willy of the west ;
Upon whose trees the name of Licea stands,
Licea, more fleeting then my Tavyes st-nds ;
Growe olde, ye ryndes ! and shedd awaye that name ;
But O what hand shall wipe awaye her shame ?
There lett us meet. And if my younger quill
BOOKE III. SONG I. 35
Bring not such raptures from the sacred hill
With others, to whome heaven infused breath
"When raignd our glorious dears Elizabeth,
(The nurse of learning and the blessed arts.
The center of Spaine's en\y and our hearts),
If that the Muses fayle me not, I shall
Perfect the little faieries festivall ;
And charme your eares soe with that princes song,
That those faire nymphes which dayly tread along
The westerne rivers and survaye the fountaynes,
And those which haunte the woods, and sky kiss'd
Shall learne and sing it to ensuing tymes
When I am dust. And Tavy in my rimes
Challenge a due ; lett it thy glorye be,
That famous Drake and I were borne by thee !
THE END 0¥ THE FIRST SOXG OF
THE THIRD BOOKE.
36 britania's pastorals.
THE SECOND SONG.
GooDE daye to all yee merry westerne swa}Ties,
And ev'ry gentle shepherdesse that deignes
A kinde attentive eare to what I sing.
Come, sitt you rounde about me in a ring ;
My reed is fitted, and I meane to playe
The faieryes song I promis'd yesterdaye;
And thoughe for length I have it over-run,
This was the matter, thus the elfe begun.
Of royall parents in a country rich
Were borne three daughters, with all beautyes
That coulde the eyes of men or gods bewitch,
Or poets sacred verse did ever sounde ;
But natures favour flewe a higher pitch.
When with the yongest she cnrich'd this round,
Thoughe her first worke for prayse much right might
Her last outwent yt, and she broke the molde.
From countryes farre remote, wing'd with desire,
Strangers pass'd gladly o'rc a tedious waye
BOOKE III. SONG II. 37
To see if fame would now be foimde a Iyer,
Wlioe said another sun brought in the daye ;
Poore men ! yee come too neere to such a fire.,
And, for a looke, your lives at hazard laye.
Staye, staye at home, reade of her beauty there.
And make not those sweet eyes your murderer.
The curious statuaryes, painters quainte.
From their greate monarks come, from ev'ry land.
That what the chesill coulde, or pensill painte.
Might in her portraict have the skillfull' st hand ;
But, seely men, they meet a sadd restrainte.
And they themselves as turn'd to statues stand;
Soe many graces in her feature lurke.
They turne all eye and have noe hands to worke.
The altars of the gods stood nowe forlorne ;
Their mirrhe and frankincense was kept awaye.
And fairest Cytherea (that was borne
Out of the white froth of the working sea)
Wanted her votaryes ; nay, some in scorne
Durste wante, while they the sacrifice delayc;
This was a deity, indeed, for whome
The gods themselves might be a hccatombe.
Divers beleev'd, whoe, ravish' d Avith the sight.
Stood gazing, as amaz'd, at her faire eyes.
That Nature had produc'd another light,
Newe kinde of starre, and in a newer guize ;
And from the earth, not from the sea, shoidd rise
38 BRITAlSriA's PASTORALS.
A Venus worthyer to unlength the night ;
And thoughe the first be for a goddesse plac'd,
This was more heavenly faire, more truely chaste.
Hence came it : Paphos and Cythera noAve,
Gnidus and Amathus could see noe more
The shipps, the parent of their goddesse plowe,
Nor pilgrims land on their forsaken shore.
Noe man a guifte coulde to her shryne allowe,
Nor rose, nor mirtle croAvne her image wore ;
The bedds contemn' d, harth fireless and unfitt,
And men's devotions were as colde as it.
Anger and rage possest the queen of love
To see a faii'er queen of love then she ;
And that a mortall, with the powers above,
Came in diA'yTie rytes to a like degree ;
Nay, that the ravish'd people alwayes strove
That this none other coulde then Venus be ;
Impatient ought on earth deserv'd her name ;
Thus murmvir'd she, and scorne still fedd the flame.
Have I, quoth she, the most confus'd abissc,
The chaos rude unwounde ? the vault of heaven
Compos'd, and settled all that order is ?
The name of nursing mother to me given,
And all regardless ? must I, after this,
Be from my temples and myne altars driven r
And she that is the sourse of humane things
Paye, as a vassall, tribute to her springs ?
BOOKE III. SONG II. 39
Noe ; 'tis a competition too-too lowe,
To stand witli one compos'd of elements
Which tiieir originall to me doe owe ;
Shall fading creatures prosecute intents
With us that all eternity doe knowe ?
And the like victimes have and sacred sents ?
Or share witii me in any rites of myne,
And mingle mortall honors with divine ?
What bootes it then that men me rightly call
The daughter of the mighty thunderer ?
And that I can ascend up to my stall
Along the milky waye by many a starre ?
And where I come, the powers celestiall
liise more to mee then any goddesse farre ?
And all those contryes by bright Phoebus seen
Doe homage and acknowledge me their queen.
Shall I then leave the prize I whilome wonne
On stately Ida (for my beautyes charmes),
Given me by Paris, Priam's fatall sonne.
From stately Juno and the Maide of Amies ?
By which old Symois long with blood did run.
If such ambition her proude bosome warmcs,
I must descend, she fly to heaven ; and there
Sitt in my glorious orbc, and guide my spheare.
Noe, this usurping maide shall feele the powre
Of an incensed deity, and see
Those cheekes of redd and white, that living flowre,
And those her limms of truest symetrie.
40 bkitania's pastorals.
Want winning eloquence to scape the showre
Of due revenge must fall on her from me.
She shall repent those beautyes, and confesse
She had been happyer in deformednes.
She said noe more : but full of ire ascends,
Her chariott drawne by white enamour'd doves;
Her passion to their speed more swiftnes lends.
And now to search her sonne (that various loves
Worketh each where) she studiously intends :
She sought him long among th' Elizian groves,
But missing him, to earth-ward bent her rej^nes,
And with a shepheard founde him on the playucs.
It was a shej^heard that was borne by- west,
And well of Tityrus had learnt to sing ;
Little knewe he, poore ladd, of love's unrest.
But by his fellowe shepheards sonnetting ;
A speculative knowledge with the best
He had, but never felt the golden sting ;
And to comply with those his fellowe swaynes,
He sung of love and never felt the paines.
The little Cupid lov'd him for his verse,
Thoughe lowe and tuned to an oaten reed;
And that he might the fitter have commerce
With those that sung of love and lovers deed,
Strookc (O but had Death strooke her to a herse)
Those woundes had not been ope Avhich freshly bleed,
Strooke a faire maide and made her love this ladd,
From whence his sorrowcs their bcerinnin<js had.
BOOKE III. SOXG H. 41
Long tyme she lov'd: and Cupid did soe deare
Affect the shepheard, that he woulde not try
A golden dart to wounde him, out of feare
(That they might not be strooken equally)
But turned orator ; and coming there
Where this yong pastor did his flocks apply,
He wooes him for the lasse sicke of his hand.
And beggs, whoe might imperiously command.
Shall that sweet paradise neglected lye
(T'was soe, and had a serpent in it too),
Shall those sweet lipps, that pitty-begging eye
Begett noe flame, when common beautyes doe ?
Those brests of snowe, bedds of felicitye.
Made to inforce a man of ire to woo,
Make nought for her ? in Avhose soule-melting flashes
A salamander might consume to ashes.
Pitty her sighes, fond swayne ! beleeve her teares ;
What hearte of marble woulde not rend to see her
Languish for love ? poore soule, her tender yeares
Have flame to feed her fire, not words to free her.
Bad orators are yonger loves and feares.
Thus Cupid wooes, and coulde a mortall flee her ?
But Venus coming, Cupid threwe a dart
To make all sure, and left it in his heart.
Thus to the winged archer Venus came,
Whoe, thoughe by Nature quick ynoughe inclynde
To all requests made by the Cyprian dame,
She lefte noe grace of looke or worde behynde
42 BRITANfA's PASTORALS.
That might rayse up that fire whicli none can tame :
Revenge, that sweet betrayer of the mynde,
That cunning, turbulent, impatient guest.
Which sleepes in blood, and but in death hath rest.
Into her charyott she him quickly takes,
And s's^dfte as tj-me, cutting the yeelding ayre,
Her discontent she tells him, as she makes
Towards Psyches sweet aboade a sadd repaire.
Psyche the lady hight that nowe awakes
Faire Venus furye ; looke, quoth she ; and there
Beholde my griefe ; Cupid, shutt thyne eyne,
Or that which now is her's will soone be thyne.
See yonder girle, quoth she, for whome my shryne
Is lefte neglected and of all forlorne ;
Hearke how the poets court the sacred Nyne
To give them raptures full and highly borne
That maye befitt a beauty soe divyne,
And from the threshold of the rosy morne
To Phoebus westerne inne, fill by their layes
All hearts with love of her, all tongues with praise.
By that matcrnall rightfull powre, my sonne,
Which I have with thee, and may justly claime;
By those golde darts which I for thee have wonne,
By those sweet wounds they make without a mayme.
By thy kinde fire which hath such wonders donne,
And all faire eyes from whence thou takest ayme ;
By these, and by this kissc, this and this other,
Right a wronged goddcsse and revenge thy mother.
BOOKE III. SONG II. 43
And this waye doe it : make that glorious mayde
Slave in affection, to a wretch as rude
As ever yet deformitie arayde
Or all the vices of the multitude.
Lett him love money ! and a friend betrayde,
Proclayme with how much witt he is indude ;
Lett not sweet sleepe but sicknes make his bedd !
And to the grave bring home her maidenhead.
When the bless'd day calls others from their sleepe,
And birds sweet layes rejoyce all creatures waking,
Lett her lame husbands grones and sighing deepe
Affright her from that rest which she is taking !
And (spight of all her care) when she doth weepe,
Lett him mistrust her teares and faithes forsaking !
In briefe, lett her affect (thus I importune)
One wrong' d as much as Nature coulde or Fortune.
Thus spoke she, and a winning kisse she gave ;
A long one, with a free and yeelding lipp,
LTnto the god ; and on the brackish wave
(Leaving her sonne ashore) doth nimbly tripp.
Two dolphins with a charryot richly brave
Way ted, and with her unto Cyprus tripp ;
The little Cupid she had lefte behinde.
And gave him sight then when he shoulde be blynde.
Cupid, to worke his wyles that can applye
Himselfe, like Proteus, to what forme he list,
Fierce as a lyon, nimble as an eye,
As glorious as the sun, darke as a mistc,
44 britania's pastorals.
Hiding himselfe within a ladyes eye,
Or in a silken hayre's insnaring twist;
And those within whose brests he ofte doth fall,
And feele him moste, doe knowe him leaste of all.
The God now us'd his powre, and him addrest
Unto a fitting stand, where he might see
All that kinde Nature ever yet exprest
Of colour, feature, or due symetrie :
It seem'd heaven was come downe to make earth blest.
Noe wonder then if there this god should be ;
Noe ; wonder more which waye he can be driven,
To leave this sight for those he knewe in heaven.
Her cheekes the wonder of what eye beheld
Begott betwixt a lilly and a rose,
In gentle rising plaines devinely swell'd.
Where all the graces and the loves repose.
Nature in this peece all her workes excell'd.
Yet shewd her selfe imperfect in the close.
For she forgott (when she soe faire did rayse her)
To give the world a witt might duely prayse her.
Her sweet and ruddy lipps, full of the fyre
Which once Prometheus stole awaye from heaven,
Coulde by their kisses rayse a like desire
To that by which Alcidcs once was d/ivcn
To fifty bcdds, and in one night entyre
To fifty maides the name of mother given :
But had he mett this dame first, all the other
Had rested maides ; she fifty tymcs a mother !
BOOKE III. SONG II. 45
When that she spoake, as at a voice from heaven
On her sweet words all eares and hearts attended ;
When that she sung, they thought the planetts seaven
By her sweet voice might well their tunes have
When she did sighe, all were of joye bereaven ;
And when she smyld, heaven had them all befriended.
If that her voice, sighes, smiles, soe many thrilld,
O, had she kiss'd, how many had she kill'd !
Her hayre was flaxen, small, and full and long,
Wherewith the softe enamour' d ayre did playe,
And hecre and there with pearles was quaintly strung ;
When they were spredd (like to Apollo's raye)
They made the brests of the Olimpicque throng
To feele their flames, as we the flame of daye ;
And to eternize what they sawe soe fayre.
They made a constellation of her hayre.
Her slender fingers (neate and worthy made
To be the servants to soe much perfection)
Joyn'd to a palme, whose touch woulde streight invade
And bring a sturdy heart to lowe subjection.
Her slender wrists two diamond bracelctts lade,
Made richer by soe sweet a soules election.
O happy braceletts ! but more happy he
To whom those armes shall as a bracelett be !
Nature, when she made woemens brests, was then
In doubt of what to make them, or how stayned ;
46 britania's pastorals.
If that she made them softe, she knewe that men
Woulde seeke for rest there, where none coulde be
If that she made them snow-like, they agen
Woulde seeke for colde where love's hote flamings
She made them both, and men deceaved soe,
Finde wakefullnes in downe, and fyre in snowe.
Such were faire Psyche's lillyed bedds of love.
Or rather two new worlds where men would faine
Discover wonders, by her stan-es above,
If any guide coulde bring them back againe.
But who shall on those azure riveretts move
Is lost, and wanders in an endles mayne ;
Soe many graces, pleasures, there apply them,
That man should need the worlds age to descry them.
As when a woodman on the greeny lawnes.
Where daylie chants the sadd-sweet nightingale,
Woulde counte his heard, more bucks, more pricketts,
Rush from the copps and put him from his tale ;
Or some wayfaring man, when morning dawnes,
Woulde tell the sweet notes in a joysome vale,
At ev'ry foote a newe bird lights and sings.
And makes him leave to counte their sonnettings.
Soe when my willing muse would gladly dresse
Her severall graces in immortall lines.
BOOKE III. SONG 11. 47
Plenty impoores her ; cv'ry golden tresse,
Each little dimple, every glance that shynes
As radyant as Apollo, I confesse
My skill too weake for soe admirde designes ;
For whilst one beauty I am close about,
Millions doe newly rise and put me out.
Never was mayde to varyous nature bounde
In greater bonds of thanckfullnes then she.
As all eyes judg'd ; nor on the massy round
For all perfections coulde another be
Upon whose any limme was to be founde
Ought, that on hers coulde vante of masterie ;
Yet thoughe all eyes had been a wishfuU feaste,
Whoe sawe nought but her body sawe her leaste.
Blest Avas the wombe that bore soe faire a birth ;
Blest was the birth for blessing of the wombe ;
Blest was the hand that tooke her to the earth ;
Blest ev'ry shady arbour, ever)^ roome ;
Blest were the deserts roughe where zephir stirr'th ;
Blest ev'ry craggy rock and rushy coombe :
All things that held, touchd, sawe her, still confessed
To t}-mes last periodd they were ever blessed.
My fairest Ccelia, when thync eyes shall viewe
These, and all other lynes ere Avritt by me.
Wherein all beautyes are describ'd, and true,
Thincke your devoted shepheards fantazie
48 bbitania's pastorals.
Rapt by those heavenly graces are in you,
Had thence all matter fitt for elogie.
Your blest endowments are my verses mothers,
For by your sweetnesse I describe all others.
N O T E S
P. 3, 1. 3. — 8oe shuts the marigold. Lupton, iu his Boke
of Notable Things, says, — "Some calles it Sponsus Solis,
the spowse of the sunne, because it sleepes and is awakened
P. 11, 1. 8 — An arched cave. A marginal note here
occurs in the original, — " The Description of the Den of
P. 12, 1. 2\.—Moly. Gerard, in his Herhall, ed. 1597,
quaintly observes respecting this plant, — " If any be desir-
ous to heare of theire charming qualities, wherewith the
Cii'ccs and magicians have used to bring to passe their dia-
bolicall incantations, let them read Homer touching that
matter in the twentie chapter of his Odysses, and there
shall they finde matter scarce woorth the reading."
P. 1-4, 1. 11. — Too-too. This word is a strengthening or
intensative of too, and is not, as generally printed, two
words. Sec a paper by Mr. Halliwell in the Shakespeare
Society's " Papers".
p. 15, 1. 16. — Cadmus tov:ne. The jioet here, of course,
alludes to the city of Thebes.
P. 22, 1. 24.— Conducted. The original word in the MS.
was transjmrted, which has been erased, and corrected as in
the text, probably by the author.
P. 24, 1. 6. — Wrought. Originally, worke.
P. 43, 1. 22. — Tripp. This duplication of the rhyme is
a defect, and a more recent hand alters the word to stripp.
P. 47, 1. 20. — Coomhe. That is, valley. See Holinshed's
History of Ireland, p. 169, cited in Halliwell's Dictionary
of Archaisms, p. 264.
lircHiTiDS. I'KINTEII, 37, OT. tfTIKEN STUEF.T.
JOHN BON & MAST PERSON ;
FESTIVAL OF CORPUS CHRISTI,
EDITED, F II M T II E 1! L A r K - L E T T E )l E I T I N,
WILLIAM HENRY BLACK.
PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY,
r,Y r. KiiiiAiJDs, sr, gt. qukion STi:Kr"r.
^€])c Percu Society.
THE RIGHT HON. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A.
ROBERT BELL, Esq.
WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq.
WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq., F.S.A.
W. DURRANT COOPER, Esq., F.S.A.
T. CKOFTON GROKER, Esq., F.S.A., M,R.I.A., Ti^easiirer.
JAMES HENRY DIXON, Esq,
FREDERICK WILLIAM FAIRHOLT, Esq., F.S.A.
W. D. HAGGARD, Esq., F.S.A.
JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., Secretary.
THE REV. A. HUME, LL.D., F.S.A.
SIR EDWARD BULWER I.YTTON, Bari-.
JAMES PRIOR, Esq., F.S.A., M.R.I.A.
WILLIAM SANDYS, Esq., F.S.A.
C. ROACH SMITH, Esq., F.S.A.
THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq., M.A., F.S.A.
The metrical dialogue contained in tlie following-
pag'es has become known to the public chieflv
from a reprint in quarto, executed in fac-simile by
*' J. Smeeton, Printer, 148, Saint Martin's Lane";
the publication of which is ascribed by Dr.
Dibdin to " Mr. Stace, the bookseller, who," he
says, " published a very limited reprint of this
scarce but not very amusing tract, of Avhich he
struck off some very few^ copies on vellum." It
is remarkable that both the original edition and
the reprint are without date. But in the Typo-
(/rapJiical Antiquities of Ames and Herbert, as
well as in Dr. Dibdin's enlarged edition of that
work, "John Bon and Mast Person" is placed
among the earliest productions of the celebrated
printer, John Day, and is assigned to the year
1548. Herbert described it from a co])y in his
own possession; which his Editor subsequently
considered to be " almost unique", adding, that
(in 1819) it enriched the fine library of the
Marquis of Bute, at Luton.*
The copy from which the reprint was taken
had belonged to the late Richard Forster, Esq.,
and contained the following manuscript note by
that gentleman, which is subjoined to the reprint
as a ninth page, the work itself consisting of only
four leaves : —
" This is the only copy of the Enterlude of
John Bon and Mast Person, that I have ever met
with. It is a bitter satire on the real presence.
Daye, the printer of it, and also Seres, were
brought into much trouble for printing only a
few cojjics, which were nearly destroyed by the
zealots of the old religion. There is no doubt
but the buying up and destroying those kind of
books (which were obnoxious to Cardinal Wolscy
and others) was very common in those days, and
made them very rare even in their own time."
Lowndes, in his Bihlioyraphcrs Manual, gives
the date of 1807 to the rejirint; and says, that
twenty-five copies were struck off' on parchment
or vellum. One of those copies, in tlie possession
of John Payne Collier, Esq., confirms this state-
* Tiiii(,tjr<(i>lncid Antiqaitu's, cd. 17^5, i. (iJO-iiO ; cd
IM!», IV. r.i.
ment, the first page being thus inscribed : —
*' George Nassau, Esquire, with Machell Stace's
respect ;" (and below) " 25 copies printed on
chosen parchment." The Editor has been favoured
by Mr. Collier Avith the loan not only of that copy,
but also of a neat transcript, made by the late
Thomas Park, Esq., evidently from the original
edition. This valuable transcript differs in no
less than twenty-six instances from the reprint,
and has enabled the Editor to correct some places
where the latter was inaccurate and unintelligible.
That the date has been correctly ascertained by
Herbert, is abundantly and satisfactorily proved ;
not only by internal evidence, but also by the
interesting story, contained in Strype's Ecclesias-
tical Memorials, which thus discloses the author
of the work.
" There was one Luke, a Physician of London,
who wrote divers books against the Papists in the
end of King Henry's reign : for which he had
been imprisoned in the Fleet. In the first year
of King EdAvard, he published one book, for
which he Avas heavily cried oiit upon, by the
Pajjists, to Sir John Gresham, the Lord Mayor.
It was a Dialogue between John Boon and Master
Parson; which two persons were brought in.
reasoning together of the natural presence in the
sacrament ; but the author had concealed himself.
It was w7-it eery facetiously , and sprinkled tcith
wit, severely biting now and tlien at the Priests.
The book took much at the court, and the
courtiers wore it in their pockets. But the Mayor
had the book so illy rejaresented unto him, that
he was very angry, and sent for Day the printer
of it, intending to make him discover the author,
and to lay him in prison for printing the same.
Underhil* chanced to come in at this time, to
desire aid of the Mayor to take Allen, before
spoken of,, who reported the King's death. The
Mayor made Underhil dine with him ; and speak-
ing to him at dinner concerning this book, the
maker whereof (he told him) he intended to
search for, that so, as it seems, Underhil might
declare at court the diligence of the Mayor in his
office ; he presently replied to him, that that book
toas a good hook ; adding, that he had himself one
of them about him, and that there were many of
them in the court. AVith that the Mayor desired
to see it, and took it, and read a little, and
laughed thereat, as it was both pithy and merry.
And by this seasonable interposition of Underhil,
* " This gentleman," says Strype, " was one that deserves
to have his name preserved in history. For he was a nia.n
zoiilous for pure religion, against superstition and impieties
of all s(jrts, and made a figure in King Edward the Sixth's
days," etc. ( A'tr/. Mem., ji. 1 II.)
John Day the printer, sitting at a (side-board,
after dinner was hidden to go home ; who had
else gone to prison."*
This passage shows that neither Cardinal
Wolsey nor Cardinal Pole had anything to do
with the suppression of "John Bon"; the one
liad died in 15-30, the other was in England only
from 1554 to 1558. The work seems rather to
have been loorn out in the pocket as a favourite,
than wilfully destroyed as heterodox : for Protes-
tantism was in the ascendant at its publication.
With the Editor, " John Bon" hath ever been
a favourite ; and he is confident that few will
agree in the opinion of it already quoted from
Dr. Dibdin. " John Bon" is the Piers Plough-
man of the sixteenth century. So characteristic
and spirited in his part in the Dialogue, — so
popular and f(n-cible is his argument, — so justly
severe are the rebukes administered to the Parson,
that " John Bon" may be read more than once
without disrelish ; and the scarceness both of the
original and of the black-letter reprint will justify
the re-issue of it, as a parting gift, to the Members
of the Percy Society, — a small but not unapt
conclusion of the interesting series of old English
* Strype's Ecclesiastical Memorials, vol. ii. j). ll(i (pp.
182-3, cd. Oxford, 1822, 8vo).
poetical and popular literature which they have
recalled into existence.
W. H. BLACK.
27 May, 1852.
^ofin Man anD
Q^ Alasse, poore foolcs ! so sore ye be lade,
No marvel it is, thoughe your shoulders ake :
For ye beare a great God, which ye yoursclfes made.
Make of it what ye wyl, it is a wafar cake,
And betwen two irons printed it is and bake.
And loke, where idolatrye is, Chiistc wyl not be there;
WhciTore, ley downe your burden, an idole yc do bcare.
get' Alasse, poore foolcs I
JOHN BON AND MAST PERSON.]
^^ THE PARSON.
What. Jolni Bon ! good morowe to the I
Nowc good morowe, mast Parson, so mnt I thee.
What meanest thou, John, to be at worke so sone?
The zoner I begyne, the zoner shall I have done ;
For I tende to warke no longer then none.
Mary, John, for that God's blessinge on thy herte ;
Fur surely some therbe wyl go to ploughe an carte,
And set not by thys holy Corpus C-hristi even.
They aer the more to blame, I swore by saynt Steven.
But tell me, mast Parson, one thinge, and you can; ^"
AVhat saynt is Copsi Ciu'sty, a man, or a woman r
14 THK KXTERLUBE OF
Why, John, knoweste not that ? I tell the it was a man.
It is Christe his own selfe, and to morowe is hys
We beare hym in prosession, and thereby knowe it ye
I knowe, mast Parson ? and na, by my faye :
But me thinke it is a mad thinge that ye saye,
That it should be a man ; howe can it come to passe ?
Because ye maye hym beare with in so smal a glasse.
Why, neybor John, and art thou nowe there ?
No we I maye perceyve ye love thys newe geare. ^'^
God's forbod, master, I should be of that facion ;
I question wy your mashippe in waye of cumlication.
A playne man, ye may se, wil speake as cometh to
Ye mustc hold us ascused, for plowemcn be but blynd.
I am an eldc felowe of fifty wynter and more,
And yet, in all my lyfe, I knewe not this before.
No dyd? why sayest thou so? upon thy selfe thou lyest:
Thou haste ever knowen the sacramente to be the
body of Christ.
John box and mast person. 15
Ye S3T, ye say true ; all that I know in dede ;
And yet, as I remember, it is not in my crede. ^^
But as for Cropsy Cursty to be a man or no,
I knewe not tyll thys day, by the waye my soule shal to.
Why, folishe felowe, I tell the it is so ;
For it was so determined by the churche longe ago :
It is both the sacramente and very Christ him selfe.
No spleaser, mast Parson; then make ye Christe an elfe,
And the maddest made man that ever body sawe.
What? peace, mad man! thou speakeste lyke a dawe.
It is not possible hys manhode for to se —
Why, sir, ye tell me it is even verye he ; "^
And if it be not his manhode, his godhed it must be.
I tell the, none of both ; what meaneste thou, art thou mad ?
No, nother mad nor drunkc, but to learne I am glade:
But to displease your mashippe I woulde be very loth.
Ye graunt me here playnly, that it is none of boeth ;
Then it is but a cake, but I pray ye be not wroth.
16 THE ENTEKLUDi: UF
Wroth, quod ha! by the masse, (thou makest me swere
I hade lever wyth a docter of divinitie to reason,
Then with a stubble cur that eateth beanes and
I crie ye mercye, mast Person ; pacience for a season !
In all thys cumlicacion is nother felony nor treason.
No, by the masse, but herest thou? it is playne heresye.
I am glade it chaunced so, theyr was no witnes by ;
And if ther had I cared not, for ye spake as yl as I.
I speake but as I harde you sayc, I wot not what ye
Ye sayd it was not God, nor man, and made it worsse
I mcnt not so ; thou tokeste me wronge.
A, sir ! yc singe another songe ;
I dare not reason wyth you longc.
I sc well nowe, yc have a knacke '^
To sayc a tliyngc and then go backc.
JOHN BOX AND MAST PEllSOX. 17
No, John; I was but a littyll over senc.
But thou mentest not good fayeth, I wene,
In all thys talkc that was us bctwene.
I ? no, trowc, it shannot so becne
That John Bon shall an hcretikc be caltle :
Then myght he laye him so fowle befalde.
But nowe, if thou wylt maike me welle,
From begynninge to endynge, I wyl the tell
Of the godly service that shalbe to morowe ; "^
That, or I have done, no doubtc thou wylt sorowe,
To here that suche thynges shoulde be fordone.
And yet, in many places, they have begun
To take a wayc the olde, and set up ncwe.
Beleve me, John, thys talc is true.
Go to, mast Parson, sayc on, and well to thryve;
Ye be the jolest gcmman that ever sawe in my lyve.
We shal firste have matins : is it not a godly hereynge ?
Fie ! yes ; me thinkc 'tis a shamefull gay chearynge ;
For often times, onmyprayers,whenI take no greatekepe,
Ye sing so arantly well, ye make me fal a slcpc. ^^
18 THE ENTEKLUDE OF
Then have we prosessioj^ and Christe aboiite wc beare.
That is a poysone holy thinge, for God himselfe is
Than comme we in, and redy us dresse,
Full solempncly to goo to messe.
Is not here a mischevous thynge r
The messe is vengaunce holye, for all ther sayeinge.
Then saye we Conjiteor and Miseriatur.
Jeze Lorde ! 'tis abbominablc matter.
And then wc stande up to the auter. ^^
Thys geerc is as good as our Ladies Sawtcr.
And so gosc fourth wylli the other dele,
Tyll we have rede tlic Pisteli and Gospell.
JOHN BON AXD MAST PERi?ON. 19
That is good, mast Person, I knowe ryglit Avell.
Is that good r whj", Avhat saystc thou to the other ?
Mary, horrible good, I saye none other.
So is all the messe, I dare avow this,
As good in every poynte as Pistell or Gospel is.
The fowle evyll it is ; whoe woulde thynkc so muche }
In fayeth I ever thought that it had bene no suche. ^'"^
Then have we the Canon, that is holyest.
A spightfull gay thynge, of all that ever I wyst.
Then have we the Memento, even before the sa-
Ye are morenly well learned, I se by your recknyngc.
That yo wyll not forget such an elvyshc thynge.
20 THE ENTEEI.UDK OF
And after that we consecrate very God and man ;
And turne the breade to fleshe uyth fyve wordes we can.
The devell ye do ! I trowe. Ther is pestilence busines!
Ye are miich bounde to God for suche a spittcll holines.
A galows gay gifte I Avyth fyve wordes alone ^^^
To make boeth God and man, and yet wcse none I
Ye talkc so unreasonably well, it makcth myhcrte yernc.
As elde a felow as yche am, I se well I may learne.
Yea, John ; and then, wyth wordes holy and good,
Even by and by, we tournc the wync to bloudc.
Lo ! wyll yc se ^ Lo ! who would have thought it,
That yc coidd so sone from wine to bloud ha brought it?
And yet, except your moutli be better tasted than myne,
I can not fcle it other but that it should be wyne.
And yet I wotc ncrc a cause ther maye be whye, i^*^
Perchauncc, yc ha dronlcc blonde ofter then ever dyd I.
Truely, John, it is bloud, though it be wine in taste ;
As soone as the wordc is spoke, the wyne is gone and past.
A sessions on it, for mc, my wyttcs arc mc bcnummc;
For I can not study where the wync shouldc become.
JOHN nox AND MAST PEKSON. 21
Study, quod lia ! beware, and let suchc matter go ;
To meddle muchc wyth thys, may bryngc ye sonc to
Yea ; but, mast Parson, thynke ye it were ryght,
That, if I desired you to make my blake oxe whight,
And you saye it is done, and styl is blacke in syglit.
Ye myght me deme a foole for to beleve so lyght ? ^-^^
I marvell muchc ye wyll reason so farre :
I feare if yc use it, it wyll ye mar.
No, no, sir ! I truste of that I wylbc ware.
I pray you wyth your matter agayne fourth to fare.
And then we go forth, and Christes body receyve ;
Evyn the very same that Mary dyd conceyve.
The devill it is ! yc have a grcate grace
To eate God and man in so short a space.
And so we make an cnde, as it licth in an order. '^o
But now the blisscd mcssc is hated in every border,
22 THE EXTERLUDE OF
And railed on, and reviled, with wovdes most blasphe-
But I trust it wylbe better with the help of Catcchismus ;
For, thoughe it came forth but even that other day,
Yet hath it tourned many to ther olde waye ;
And where they hated messe, and had it in disdayne,
There have they messe and matins in Latyne tongue
a gain e.
Ye, even in London selfe, (John) I tel the trocth,
Theybeful glade and mery to here of thys, God knoweth.
By my tructh, mast Parson, I lyke ful wel your talke :
But masse me no more messinges. The right way wil
I walke. 1-^1
For thoughe I have no learning, yet I know chcse from
And yche can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye walke.
But leve your devilish masse, and the communion to
And then will Christ be with you, even for his promissc
Why, art thou suche a one, and kept it so closse ?
"Wcl, al is not goldc that hath a fayre glosse.
But farewel, John Bon, God bringe the in better mind.
I thankc you, sir, for that you seme verie kyndc ;
JOHN BON AND MAST PERSON. 23
But praye not so for me, for I am well inoughe. i''"
Whistill, boy ! drive furtli ! God spede us and the
Ha ! browne done ! forth that horson crabbe !
Reecomomyne, garlde, wyth haight blakc hab !
Have a gayne, bald before, hayght ree who !
Cherly boy, cum of, that whomwarde we may goo. ^f"^
g:^° Imprinted at London, by John Daye, and
Willy AM Sekes, dwellinge in Sepulchres Parishe,
at the signe of the Resurrection, a littel
above Holbournc Conduite.
CUM GHATIA ET PRIVILEGIO AD IMPRIMENDUM SOLUM.
Lillet. So mut I thee. A form of asseveration, meaning
" so might I thrive!" In East Anglia the phrase has been
corrupted into Sammodithee, which occurs among the
Norfolk words mentioned in Sir Thomas Browne's Mis-
cellany Tracts; and on it the following note, by the pre-
sent editor, has been already printed : — " Sammodithee is
an old oath, or asseveration, sd mot I the, so may I thrive !
Ah mote I the is common in antient English, and so the ik
in Chaucer. See Tyrwhitt's and other Glossaries, in v. The,
which is the Anglo-Saxon ^ean, to thrive." (Browne's
works, by Wilkin, London, 1835, 8vo., iv. 205.)
Lhie 5. Tende. Intend.
Line 18. Glasse. The pix, in which the host was carried
Line 20. This neu-e genre. This new " fashion", as John
calls it in the next line ; namely, the reformation of re-
Line 21. God'sjorlod. Forbode is here a noun, meaning
prohibition : in the vulgar phrase the verb is used, " God
Line 22. Mashippe. Mastership.
Li'iie 22. Cumlication. Communication, or conversation.
See also line 51.
Line 24. Ascused, Excused.
Lhie 36. No spleaser. No displeasure ! Be not dis-
pleased with me ! See line 44.
Line 46. Then it is. " Then is it" in Mr. Park's tran-
Line 49. Peason. Peas ; meaning that John Bon was
a "chawbacon" or clownish fellow.
Line 62. Over-seiu. Incautious.
Liiie 67, Then myght he laye him sofov;le befalde. This
obscure line perhaps means that, if he should so disgrace
himself as to be justly called a heretic, then he might lie
(as he deserved) in the mire. But in the reprint the word
laye is misprinted " saye". The correction is made on the
authority of Mr, Park's transcript.
Line 72. Fordone. Discontinued, or abolished.
Line 11. Jolest geminan. The jolliest gentleman, for
saying laughable things. John begins now to joke the
Parson, having found it useless to reason with him any
longer. See line 59.
Liiie 80. Take no greate kepe. Give little heed or at-
Line 88. Confiteor and Misereat2ir, These are parts of
the "Ordinary of the Mass"; the first to be said by the
priest at the step of the altar, the second by the deacon
and sub-deacon at his sides. They stand thus in the
Salisbury Missal : — " Confiteor Deo, beatse Mariac, omnibus
Sanctis, et vobis, (juia peccavi nimis cogitationc, locutione,
et opere, Mea culpa ! Precor sanctam Mariam, omnes
sanctos Dei, et vos, orare pro me, Ministri respondeant.
]Misereatur vcstri omnipotens Deus, et dimittat vobis omnia
peccata vestra : liberet vos ab omni malo, conservet ct
confirmet in bono, et ad vitam perducat octeruam. Sacerdoi^.
Amen," etc. (Missale ad usum insignis ecclesite Saruro,
Line 91. Tky& geere. This piece of furniture, the altar ;
or, perhaps, this part of the ceremony.
Zwie 91. Our Ladies Sawter. Apparently certain prayers
to the Virgin Mary, beginning with " 0." To a copy in
one of the Harleian MSS. is prefixed the following account
of the supposed advantages of a daily repetition of those
superstitious devotions : — " Si aliquis dicat cotidie Psalte-
rium beate Marie virginis per annum, habebit qualibet die
viginti quatuor annos et triginta septimanas et tres dies
indulgencie. Sunima in septimana, C"", Ixxvij anni, xxv
septimane et ij dies. Summa totalis, si quis per annum
cotidie dicat Psalteriiun beate Marie, ix Milia CCC. v.
anni, centum et xl. dies." (Harl. MS. 211, f. 147^)
Line 103. Memento. This is the prayer for the dead,
in the Canon of the Mass, beginning — " Memento etiam
Domine famulorum famularumque tuarum N. et N." etc.
Line 103. Sacringe. Consecration of the host. See
lines 106 and 107.
Line 104. Morenly. Learned, with a murrain (or plague)
upon it ! Cursedly learned !
Zine 111. And yet wese none. So all the copies. The
word v)ese is either an original misprint for we se (see) ; or
else it stands for ice're, and means, though we ourselves are
not possessed of creative power.
Line 113. Yoke am. I am. See also line 153.
Line 115. Even by and by. Instantaneously.
Line 116. " Lo loyll ye se lo? who woulde have thought
it.'' Thus in the original, as witnessed by Mr. Park's tran-
script : but the line is rendered unintelligible in the re-
print, by the misprinting of " Ic" for the second lo.
Line 117. Bloud. So in ]\Ir. Park's transcript ; "blood"
in the reprint.
Liiie 124. Are me bemimme. Are taken from me. From
nim, to take, Qwrne, took, nonve, or num, taken.
Lines 125-6. Study. Understand, or find out. Like a
genuine priest of old times, the Parson discourages the
exercise of understanding and reason in religion.
Lviie 131. So lyght. So easily ; so readily to believe a
thing contrary to common sense and ocular demonstration.
Line 143. Catechisraus. The Catechism of the Council
of Trent cannot be that which is here referred to ; for, though
it began to sit in 1545, that work was not published until
1566. Archbishop Cranmer's book, intitled " A short in-
struction to Christian Religion, for the singular profit of
children and young people," and commonly called his
'"Catechism", seems to be the work intended: it was
designed indeed to promote the Reformation, but from the
accident of a picture at the beginning, which represented
"an altar with candles lighted, and the priest appareled
after the old sort, putting the wafer into the communicant's
mouth," advantage was taken by the Papists. The picture
was therefore altered in a subsequent edition. (See Strype's
Life of Cranmer, p. 160 ; Oxford ed., i. pp. 227-8.)
Line 151. Masse riie no more messiJiges. Celebrate no
more masses for me.
Line 163. Reecomomym. " Ree" is a distinct syllable
in Mr. Park's transcript, as in the next line. This is the
Ploughman's language to his team of horses.
iLiSt of Jlcmlirrs
;jO/7i A2)ril, iH.j'i, iL-hen iVissoUad by Special General Mectiitfi
held on the 2(l(/t February, lSr)2.
(c) Denotes that the Memher has compounded for his
Advocates' Library, Edinburgh
Alston, Rev. E. C, Guildhall, Framlingham, Suffolk.
Athenaeum Club, Pall Mall,
Atkinson, F. R., Esq., Manchester,
^ Bagot, Hon, A,
Bank of England Library and Literary Association.
Barber, John, Esq., 19, St. Paul's Churchyard.
Barrow, Rev. F., Cranbrook.
Barton, J. P., Esq., New York.
1" Beckwith, J. M,, Esq., 43, Norland Square.
Bell, Robert, Esq. (Council).
Beneckc, F. W., Esq., C3, Moorgatc Street.
Benson, Rev. S., 11, Anchor Terrace, Southwark
Black, W. 11.. Esq. (Council), Rolls House,
15 Bohii, Mr. H. G., 15, York Street, Covent Garden.
Boker, H. G. Esq., New York.
Booth, B. W., Esq., Swinton, Mauchester.
(o.) Botfield, Beriah, Esq., 19,George Street, Hanover Square.
Bowley, R. K., Esq., Charing Cross.
~" Brownlow, Earl, 12, Belgrave Square.
Brown, — Esq., Boston, United States.
Braj'brooke, Lord (President), 10, New Burlington St.
Brayley, E. W. Esq., Russell Institution.
Bruce, the Lord Justice Knight, Priory, Roehampton.
25 Bruce, John, Esq., 5, Ui^per Gloucester St., Dorset Sq.
Buckley, William E., Esq., Haileyhury, Hertford.
Burn, James, Esq., Great King Street, Edinburgh.
Cambridge University Library.
Cartwright, Samuel, Esq., Tunbridge.
•'" Chapman, W., Esq., Richmond,
(c.) Chappell, William, Esq., (Council), 39, Portland Place.
Chichester, J. H. R., Esq., 49, Wimpolc Street.
Cooper, W. D., Esq. (Council), 81, Guildford Street.
•■'5 Corney, Bolton, Esq., Barnes Terrace, Surrey.
Crokor, T. Crofton, Emi (Treasurer), 3, Gloucester
Road, Old Brompton.
Croomcs, J., Esq., St. John's Villa, North End, t'ulham,
Cro.sslcy, J,, Esq., Manchester.
Crowuinschiekl, Edward, Esij., New York.
Ciirzon, Hon. E. C, Scarsdalc House, Kensington.
Dent, J., Esq., Worcester.
Dilke, C. W., Esq., Lower Grosvenor Place.
Dodd, G., Esq., M.P., 9, Grosvenor Place, Hyde Park.
Dunn, J., Esq., Paisley.
Durham, Joseph, Esq., 26, Alfred Place, Bedford Sq.
Dyce, Rev. A., 9, Gray's Inn S(j[uare.
Dyke, Rev. H., Collcsford, near Brackley.
Elliot, J. B. Esq., Patna, East Indies.
Exton, Rev. R. B., Cretingham, Woodhridge.
Fabre, Monsieur J. F. Paris.
Fairholt, F. W., Esq., (Council), 11, Montpelier Square,
Fenton, G. 8., Esq., Belfast.
Fletcher, S., Esq., Manchester.
Fitch, Robert, Esq., Norwich
Ford, J. Esq., 29, Surrey Street, Strand.
Forster, W. E., Esq., Bradford.
FrostjW. Edward, Esq., 9,Gunter's Grove, New Brompton.
Gandy, E., E.sq., Tavistock Street, Bedford Square.
Getty, E., Esq., Belfast.
Gilbertson, E., Esq.. 20, Cranbourn Street.
Gordon, Robert, Es(]., .Jun., Edinburgh.
''5 Gutch, J. M., Esq., Worcester.
Haggard, W.D., Esq. (Couxcil), Upper Mall, Hammersmith.
Halliwell, J. 0., Esq. (Secretary), Avenue Lodge,
Hailstone, E. Esq., Hornton Hall, Bradford, Yorkshire.
Hare, Rev. Archdeacon, Horsmonceaux, Sussex.
™ Harness, Rev. W., Hyde Park Terrace.
Harrison, Wm., Esq., Ardwick, Manchester.
Heseltine, S., Esq., Stock Exchange.
Hewitt, Thomas, Esq.
Heywood, A. H., Esq., Bank, Manchester.
'5 Hiffill, Henry, Esq.
Hollond, R., Esq., M.P., 63, Portland Place.
Hope, A. J. B., Esq., M.P., 1, Connaught Place.
Hosmer, Z. Esq., Boston, United States.
Hull Subscription Library.
^0 Hunt, Harry, Esq., Bii-mingham.
Irving, David, Esq., 6, Meadow Place, Edinburgh.
Jones, Joseph, Esq., Ilathcrshaw, Oldham.
Jordan, J. W., Esq., C, Portman Street, Portnian Sq.
Keller, Dr. A., University of Tubingen.
"^5 King's College Library, Strand.
Laing, David, Esq., Edmburgh.
Laird, Robt., Esq., Paisley,
(o.) La])pcnbcrg, Dr.
Lever, C, Esq., 10, King's Road, Bedford Row.
'•'^ Livermore, G., Esq., Now York,
London Institution, Finsbury Circus.
London Library, St. James's Square.
(c.) Lucas, James, Esq., Edinburgh.
Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, Bart. (Council).
^■' M'Grigor, A., Esq., Glasgow.
Mackenzie, A. C, Esq., St. John's College, Oxford.
Mackenzie, J. W., Esq., 16, Royal Circus, Edinburgh.
Maidment, James, Esq., 11, London Street, Edinburgh.
Manchee, T. J., Esq., Bristol.
10" Manchester Exchange Library.
Markland, J. H., Esq., Bath.
Maude, 11. J., Esq., Great George Street.
Morris, W., Esq., Chester.
Morris, W. G., Esq., Pall Mall.
105 Morton, Rev. J., Holbeach.
(o.) Munich Royal Library.
Murch, Rev, Jerome, Bath.
Ormerod, G., Esq., Sedbury Park, Chepstow.
Ouvry, P., Esq., 40, Oxford Terrace, Ilydc Park.
1^'^' Oxford and Cambridge Club.
Pagan, Dr., Edinburgh.
Parkinson, Rev. R., St. Bees, Cumberland.
Pcttigrcw, T. J., Esq., 8, Saville Row.
Peacock, 1\., li'Mi; Wc;;t Balden, Sunderland.
115 Percival, R., Esq., Canoubury.
Pickslay, E. J., Esq., 4, Albemarle Street,
(c.) Pocock, Lewis, Esq., 5, Gloucester Road, Regent's Park.
Ponton, T., Esq., 4, Hill Street, Berkeley Square.
Priaulx, 0. de B., Esq., Reform Club.
120 Prideaux, W., Esq., 38, Baker Street, Portman Square.
Prior, J., Esq. (Council), 20, Norfolk Crescent, Oxford
Reed, F. J., Esq., Friday Street.
Relton, Rev. J. Rudge, Ulverstoue, Lancashire.
Repton, J. A., Esq., Springfield, Chelmsford.
1-5 Richards, Mr. Thomas, 37, Great Queen Street.
Richardson, W. S., Esq., Tanfield Court, Temple.
Rickards, S., Esq., Piccadilly.
Robinson, W. W., Esq., Oxford.
Row, J. Y., Esq., 16, Oxford Square, Hyde Park.
i-'^''' Roxburgh, A., Esq.
Sandys, W., Esq. (Council), 25, Devonshire Street,
Shakespere Society, Glasgow.
ShirriflF, J. H., Esq., Blackheath.
Smith, C. Roach, Esq., 5, Liverpool Street, Finsbury.
135 Smith, Mr. J. R., Soho Square.
Smith, R. J., Esq., 7, Strand.
Smith, W. J., Esq., 5, Whitehall Yard,
(o.) Smith, T., Esq., Bristall House.
Smith, Thomas, EiH[., Colchester.
i-J" Sopwith, T., Escj., Newcastle.
Sotheby, S. L., Esq., Wellington Street.
Stevenson, Rev. Dr. W., Manse of South Lcith,
Swanston, C. T., Esq., 51, Chancery Lane.
Taylor, R., Esq.
1^5 Thorns, W. J., Esq., 25, Holywell Street, Westminster,
(c.) Tite, William, Esq., London Institution.
Trinity College, Dublin.
Turnbull, W. B. D. D. Esq., Edinburgh.
Turner, F., Esq., Queen Square, St. James's Park.
i=w Utterson, E. V., Esq., Ryde, Isle of Wight.
Valle, F., Esq., Bradford.
Van de Weyer, His Excellency M., 2, Portland Place,
Walton, Charles, Esq., Victoria Street, Holborn Bridge.
Warne, C. Esq., Blaudford.
1^5 White, G., Esq., 5, Arthur Street.
Wilks, J., Esq., 3, Finsbury Square.
Williamson, Stephen, Esq., Glasgow.
Wilson, E. J., Esq., Hull.
Wiudus, B. G., Esq., Tottenham.
iiio Worship, F., Esq., Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Wreford, Rev. Dr. J. R., Kingsdown, Bristol.
Wright, T., Es(|. (Council), 24, Sydney St., Brompton.
SPECIAL GENERAL MEETING,
26Tn FEBRUARY, 1852.
A Special General Meeting of the Society was held
on the 26th February, at No. 37, Great Queen Street,
circulars convening the same having been sent to all
Members who were not in arrear beyond the current
year, and an advertisement having been inserted in
the Times newspaper.
JAMES nilOR, ESQ., F.S.A., M.R.I.A.,
In the CI t air.
At this Meeting, twenty-three Members of the
Society were present.
The Treasurer read a Report of the financial con-
dition of the Society, which included all information
respecting its present condition.
It was Resolved, " that the Treasurer's Report be
Mr. Black having read to the Meeting copious
extracts from the minutes of Council, which exhibited
the earnest attention that had been paid to the state of
the Society, it was Resolved, " That considering the
present circumstances of the Percy Society, it is ex-
pedient that this Society be dissolved at the close of
the current year, and that the books which remain in
hand be divided amongst those Members then not in
arrear of their Siibscriptions, so far as the stock will
allow, and with advantage of priority in proportion to
the period of Subscription."
It was then unanimously Resolved, " That it be
referred to the Council to carry the above Resolution
into effect, and to make any further arrangements they
may consider necessary in winding up the affairs of
It was unanimously Resolved, " That thanks be
returned to the President and Council for their
Thanks were unanimously voted to Mr. Prior, as
Chairman, and the Meeting then separated.
MADE BY THE TREASURER OF THE PERCY
SOCIETY TO A SPECIAL GENERAL MEETING,
ON THE 26th FEBRUARY, 1852.
At the EleA'enth Annual Meeting of the Percy
Society, held on the 9th May 1851, I had the honour
to be elected your Treasurer.
Upon inspection of the accounts, I could not help
observing that what always appeared to me to be two ob-
jectionable practices had existed almost from the com-
mencement of the Society. First, that of appropriating
Subscriptions paid before they became due, in advance,
towards the liquidation of debts that had been in-
curred, instead of reserving them as paid in advance
to meet growing expenses ; and, secondly, throwing
the payment for books issued in one year upon the
funds of another.
There can be no doubt that the necessity for this
mode of dealing arose from the conduct of many of
the Members, neglecting to pay their Subscription at
the period when it became due, and some allowing
tlieir Subscriptions to nm for several years into arrear,
although repeatedly applied to on the subject — so that
to arrive at the real state of the Society's income,
which should regulate its expenses, became every year
more and more difficult ; and although I have done my
utmost to ascertain the actual amount, I will not pre-
sume to assert that I have been able to do so accu-
rately or in a satisfactory manner. And for these
reasons ; that my respectful applications for pa}'ment
of monej's absolutely due to the Society, in some in-
stances have neither been attended to nor answered ;
and sometimes, when replied to, the answers have
been vague, unsatisfactory, and even impertinent. For
instance, one gentleman when requested to pay £4,
informed mc on the 28th July, 1851, ''that he would
communicate further with me after seeing a gentleman
at present in Norway". Another gentleman, when
applied to for £2, answers on the 3rd August, 1851,
that another gentleman Avould arrange his account.
(No notice that I am aware of before yesterday was taken
of either of these communications.) Again, an agent of
the Society, when I applied by printed circular letter to
certain Members for their Subscriptions, and whose
names appeared upon my list as defaulters, is pleased
to term the conduct of your Treasurer "rude" and
"insolent", and has certainly given some erroneous
information (2nd December, 1851), which will require
further investigation : he is, howcvci, no longer yoiir
agent. And, in another case, of application for £10,
I am told that personal chastisement was certainly not
inflicted, but threatened. It is, however, unnecessary
for me to multiply cases of the difficulties that present
themselves to the collection of the small funds, upon
which the existence of the Percy Society depends. At
the same time, I am bound publicly to return to the
majority of the Members of that Society, my sincere
thanks for the courteous manner in which they have
responded to my letters, and afforded me the oppor-
tunity of offering explanations. One gentleman, in
particular, writes (23rd October, 1851), "I suppose
the financial condition of the Society is not satisfactory,
from its coming under the final consideration of the
Council. If you will allow me, as a subscribing
Member, to express an opinion, I think it is often well
for such Societies to have a limit to their existence.
They generally begin by publishing valuable works
which are much wanted, but after some time go on
publishing simply because they are in existence ; then
subscribers become tired of paying, receiving, and
reading. I do not say this by way of finding any fault
with what the Percy Society has done : but it seems
to be the lot of such bodies in general. Could we end
with our hundredth number, or twelfth year, or some
fixed period, I think we might do so with advantage.
Momimentum exeginms, and I should like to bind my
numbers with the knowledge that they were a complete
set. Should the Society live on, however, I shall hope
to continue one of its Members."
The late Treasurer's audited Account, laid before
the General Meeting of the 9th May 1851, shewed
that, notwithstanding subscriptions which had been
received to meet the demands upon the Society up to
the 1st May 1852, to the amount of £24, this sum
(according to usual practice) had been carried to
account in expenditure for the years 1850-1 ; and,
further, that the sum of £13:18:5 remained as a
balance due to the late Treasurer. It must, hoAvever,
be admitted against this appropriation of £24, which,
in my opinion, should have been brought to the credit
of the Society in my Account, that there should fairly
be considered as a set off £39, the amount of arrears
received during our financial year, as I would have the
same chance of collecting and carrying to account all
arrears that your late Treasurer had, although I object
to the system of anticipating the income by wbich our
annual expenditure should be guided ; however, the
Auditor's Report would shew this fact, that the number
of paying Members of the Percy Society on the 9th
May, 1851, was actually no more than one hundred
and thirty-three, and therefore its income, upon which
I had to calculate, so many pounds.
From this statement, according to my view of the
case, it will appear that I entered upon the office of
Treasurer in debt to the amount of £37 : 18:5, and
the sums for which six Members had compounded
having been expended, with the prospect only of an
income of £103, supposing the Members neither to
decrease by death or resignation, nor to increase by
desire to possess the Society's works. The former
amounted to a certainty — the latter became improbable
as a numerical calculation, for the Society had long
since ceased to be able to supply a complete set of its
books to any new Member who might feel inclined to
join it. Besides the balance of £13 : 18 : 5 reported to
me as due to the late Treasurer, I ascertained that there
were unliquidated claims for printing, paper, and other
matters, incurred during the year 1850-51, amounting
to about £66, making a total of £79 : 18:5.
With this no very agreeable knowledge, of having
about Ticenty Pounds at your disposal for 1851-52, I
found myself the Treasurer of the Percy Society, and
immediately felt it to be my duty most strongly to
urge upon the consideration of the Council the financial
circumstances of the Society, which I did at the first
subsequent Meeting on the 5th June last, when I was
authorized to take such steps as I might consider to be
necessary to get in the arrears.
Opposed, however, ta this gloomy picture, there was
the knowledge that the Society possessed a valuable
stock of books, which, if sold, would I believe place at
their disposal for the current year a larger sum of
money than the Society ever possessed, having been
estimated, for the purpose of insurance and being in-
sured, at four hundred pounds. But the feeling of the
Council (in which, as an individual, I confess I do not
concur) was opposed to selling our stock, at least with-
out the entire concurrence of a General Meeting.
Had this step been taken by the Council, I can have
no hesitation in assuring you that they could have pro-
duced at least the usual number of works, or if the
dissolution of the Society was resolved upon, that I
would have the pleasure to return to each Member the
full amount of his Subscription for the current year, if
not more, and that even this would also have enabled
the Council to give the most liberal consideration to
the claims — if claims they can be called — of those who
compounded eleven years since by the payment of ten
pounds for the annual payment of one.
I had also the cheering assurance from the auditors
of the late Treasurer's accounts, that there appeared
" to remain due to the Society unreceived Subscriptions
for the previous years to the amount of about £200, which
there was every reason to believe will be paid." This
would have been satisfactory enough had not the
following note been appended to the report of the
auditor read at the General Annual Meeting of 1851.
"And I also certify that the Treasurer has reported
to me that Subscriptions for the past year, and arrears
to a considerable amount, arc still due, the whole of which
there is every reason to believe will be received, and it is
hoped within a short period." Adding, in an emphatic
manner, that he urged '* uponthe Members the necessity of
pai/i)i(j tlieir Subscriptions us early as convenient in the
year, in order that the Council may he able to judye of
the fmds at its disposal ^
It may further be observed that the report of the
auditors to the General Annual Meeting of 1850, stated
that " there remain imreceived Subscriptions for the
past year, and arrears, to the amount of nearly .t''200 ;
the whole ol' whicli, there is every reason to believe,
will be received, and it is hoped within a short period."
Concluding their report with the same emphatic com-
ment echoed by their successor.
Now for facts, without supposition. Out of the
£200 mentioned in the Auditors' Report for 1850, only
£68, or about one third of the anticipated amount,
appears to have been actually received ; and out of the
anticipated "considerable amount" of arrears in 1851,
only £39, or little more than half of the arrears brought
to accoimt at the previous audit. It therefore became
a doubtful question what amount the anticipated £200,
with which I did not even receive the assurance of a
hope that it would be paid " tvitlnn a short jwriod",
would produce on the credit side of your account. I
am now, however, happy to acknowledge the receipt
of £61, with every confidence that before my accounts
for the year are closed, about the 25th of April next,
the amount of arrears which I shall have to write off
against this £200 will exceed that which appears in the
Report of the Auditors for 1850.
After being appointed your Treasurer, my first step
was to compile as accurate a list as possible from the
documents supplied to me of all who were considered
to be Members of the Percy Society. To ascertain
their correct addresses was a work of no small labour.
Many were in America — some in the East Indies —
more, I regret to add, from the letters returned to me
by the post office, marked " gone away" — " nowhere
to be found" — and " not known" — were scarcely worth
the trouble of making further inquiries about with
reference to your funds ; while other of the letters
returned to me bore the melancholy notation of " dead".
I wished to ascertain under what circumstances so large
an amount as £200 could have accumulated, with the
hope, however slight, that I might have the pleasure
of placing the whole of that sum to your credit.
The examination and correction of the lists and
documents furnished to me occupied considerable time
and required close attention ; for it did not appear to
have been the annual practise of your Councils to
revise and print a list of the Members — I believe from
motives of economy — nor can I ascertain the date of
the last printed list with which I was supplied on
becoming your Treasurer, corrected in manuscript from
the records of the Society — because it is without date.
Every one must feel, and more especially in matters of
account, that it is necessary to proceed systematically
with an investigation where doubtful and debatable
points may arise. Now the difficulty presented by our
financial year commencing on the 1st of May in one
year, and terminating on the 30th of April in the
following, and of all Subscriptions being due in advance,
appeared generally to be so little understood that it
involved me in a very troublesome and unsatisfactory
correspondence. I will only detain you by reading one
amusing reply, which I certainly must admit, with a
promise of payment, comes from Ireland (9th of
August, 1851): "I cannot understand how I am a
defaulter for the year 1852. The application I had
before I received yours claimed £8 for eight years.
You claim £7 for seven years, including a year which,
if it comes at all, will not be here for four months.
Either the accounts are oddly kept or I am mistaken
grievously, at all events I will send you the Subscription
for the years ending 1851, and request my name may
be erased from the Society after that period."
Upon this communication, I need scarcely observe
to you that the payment of a pound or two on account
of arrears would make any accounts appear to be oddly
kept, and is, in my humble opinion, a most objection-
able practice ; either the whole demand should be
met, or if the demand is supposed to be incorrect
an explanation requested, for who is not liable to
error ? or after a reasonable and specified time, say
three or six months, the defaulter's name removed
from the list of Members.
It was not until the end of July last, that I found
myself in a position to address a circular letter to all
who had been Members of the Percy Society, and
whose names had been returned to me as being more
than one year in arrear of their Subscriptions. And
in consequence I dispatched, on the 25th and 26tli of
July, no less than sixty-nine letters, to one of which I
received an answer in the course of the first-named
day, assuring me that the writer would call upon
Mr. Richards and pay £3. Respecting this assurance
either the accounts of the Society's printer must be in
error, or, notwithstanding the apparent business-like
habits of your Treasurer's correspondent, his want of
memory to be regretted.
On the 29th of July I dispatched twenty-nine similar
circular letters soliciting the pa}Tnent of debts due to
the Society : of these ninetj'-eight letters thirty-four only
have been honoured by the slightest notice, and your
Treasurer further made, and caused to be made,
personal applications for the recovery of arrears, and
Avith the result of one of Avhich applications you have
been made acquainted.
Awaiting my Report the Council of the Percy
Society held no Meetings during the months of August
and September 1851, and on the 2nd of October I
placed before them the following statement, showing
that 237 names appeared upon the list furnished to me
and that of these
1 was in arrear 10 years ^10
4 were in arrear
64 had paid
6 had Compounded
420 in arrear
From wliicli it would appear that the Auditors of
1850-51 liad tlien considered tliat £200, or tliere-
abouts, may be written off, in mercantile phraseology,
as "bad debts".
To sixty-four annual subscribing Members, six com-
pounding Members being added, made the total number
seventy, and as £24 of the annual Subscription had
been appropriated, it left but £40 in your Treasurer's
hands, with the chance of collecting arrears, to meet
debts and probable demands, which, on the 2nd
October 1851, he estimated at about £88.
Upon this Report, the Council was pleased to direct
the Treasurer to call in all outstanding Subscriptions
due (in advance) on the 1st May 1851, and in conse-
quence he had the honour to address another circular
letter, dated the 2nd October, and to send duplicates
to all who had not replied to his circular of the previous
July, and who still might be pleased to consider them-
selves as Members of the Percy Society.
He was further ordered by the Council to revise his
list of Members, and to place on a separate one, for
their confidential consideration, the names of all who
were in arrear of their Subscriptions, distinguishing
those who had not replied to or noticed his circular
letter of July.
This order was strictly obeyed. And he now finds
the name of J. B. Elliot, Esq., Patna, East Indies,
returned to him as having paid his Subscription for
1852-53, which, instead of appropriating, it is your
Treasurer's wish should be transferred to his suc-
cessor's Accoimt, or carried to the Account of Mr.
Elliot by Mr. Kichards, who I have ascertained will be
responsible for that amount to him.
At the Council Meeting of the 6th November, 1851,
I had the satisfaction to announce that all claims upon
the Society, so far as I could ascertain, might at once
be liquidated. On the 6th November, 1851, your
Treasurer found the exact demands of which he was
cognizant against the Percy Society to be £80 : 13:5,
to meet which he had £122 absolutely at his command,
leaving an available cash balance of £42 : 13 : 5 at the
disposal of the Council, which he had every reason to
believe would be speedily increased to upwards of £60 ;
and that still a large amount of arrears appeared to be
due to the Society ; but that until those who had
ceased to be Members could be distinctly distinguished
from those who considered themselves to be so, and
had received the books of the Society without pay-
ment of their Subscriptions, it would be impossible for
him to make up even an estimate more closely.
The Council then ordered twenty-three names of
parties who had not received the books of the Society,
and had neglected to reply to the original and duplicate
of the Treasurer's circular of July last, to be removed
from the list of Members of the Percy Society.
And resolved with the funds at their command, that
two hundred and fifty, or half the number of copies
usually printed, of the third and ineditcd book of
Browne's Britannia's Pastorals should be printed.
This has been done, and will, soon after the 1st of
next month, be ready for delivery to the Members, the
actual number of whom on Monday last (23rd Febru-
ary, 1852) 1 had the lionour to report to tlu' Council
to be one hundred and twenty-eight, shewing only a
decrease which may be accounted for by deaths and
I would observe that cases may and probably will
arise, Avhen the proceedings of this Meeting become
generally known, which will require the serious con-
sideration of your Council, who I feci convinced, and
I think I may confidently assure you, will deal with any
such cases as may come before them in the most
generous spirit, however little the applicants may have
merited any claim to attention or favourable regard.
Finally, I have the honour to place before you an
estimate, Avhich, however, cannot be much in error,
and which will shew the available balance in my hands,
clear of all demands, at the disposal of the Council, on
this day, to be £62 : 11 : 7, with which knowledge it
was impossible that I could recommend to them, upon
the principles I have advocated, undertaking the print-
ing of a work of any extent, with the issue of title-
pages, and the pa}Tnent of other incidental charges,
which might and certainly would be incurred in bring-
ing the affairs of the Percy Society to an honourable
and, I hope, satisfactory conclusion.
T. CROFTON CROKER,
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